


Camelot

by setissma



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-18 04:00:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21721408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setissma/pseuds/setissma
Summary: “I was…” Draco was watching her in the dim glow coming from the streetlight just outside the window. “I was his first call when something happened in the middle of the night. I was the first person he texted when the plane touched down. I got all his secrets. I knew him by heart. And then you came along.”
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 39
Kudos: 521
Collections: Hermione Granger Wins Again





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is quite possibly the most ludicrous non-magical AU I've ever written, and if you hate the idea of Harry making tumblr jokes or a lot of talking about relationships, definitely skip this one.

“Call me crazy,” Harry said, dryly, “ but I don’t think you’re actually into this.” He pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee, then slid back up the bed.

Hermione made a face. “I was. Mostly. Sorry.”

“Mm.” Harry reached to brush a strand of hair out of her face, laughing. “Maybe you could let me know next time before I get invested.”

Hermione reached to cup his face to pull him down for a kiss. “It’s four in the morning, and I was up until midnight figuring out what color of Christmas lights to put in the front windows. I might be regretting not calling it in favor of more sleep. Are we sure I need to wake up?”

Harry laughed again. “Sorry, it doesn’t actually do it for me if you’re not conscious.”

“You say this, but I distinctly remember fooling around while you were ninety percent asleep last week. And you definitely hit one hundred percent halfway through.”

“You’re never letting that go, are you?” Harry poked her in the side. “I was off running the country. You should appreciate that, I’m very important.”

“You were up too late playing chess with Draco.”

“I had to ring some ambassador at some point in there,” Harry protested.

Hermione snorted. “Which one?”

“Er. I can’t actually remember, but it happened. Ask Pansy, she probably has the time to the second and extensive notes.”

“She terrifies me.”

“Being horrifying is an excellent quality in a chief of staff, really.” Harry kissed her again. “I should get up. I’ve got useless meetings about legislative items that are never going to pass.”

“I think I’m visiting a hospital to read books to small children.” Hermione yawned. “I’d be excited, but they’re just going to choose the cutest ones and take a hundred photos and then make me leave before I even finish the book.”

“Are we getting jaded? It’s only been six months, we’d should probably get it together.”

“I’m more enthusiastic when I don’t have to get up before dawn.”

Harry climbed out of bed. “Speaking of not being enthusiastic, don’t forget that we’ve got that charity thing tonight.”

“What’s that for? Wayward youth? The arts?”

“I think it’s the environment. Pansy’s probably got at least four binders, I’ll send them over to Padma.”

“Are you still hoping for some sort of meet cute involving supplemental research and color coded agendas?”

Harry grinned. “All I’m saying is that they’d be the ultimate power couple. And I think my strategy of fucking up our schedules so badly that they have to work together to fix them is utterly brilliant.”

“That or it’s going to lead to homicide.”

“Are we taking a car from here?”

“I’m at Oxford all afternoon. Where I’ll actually get to finish a lecture on a law text and no one will take any photographs of me.”

“Unless the graduate students post you on instagram again.”

“Just so long as they choose flattering filters.”

“Go back to sleep. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I love you,” Hermione said, pulling the blankets back up. “Sorry about bailing halfway through sex.”

“Hey.” Harry reached down to tilt her chin up. “I love you. And I know none of this is ideal for you. Thanks for - I don’t know, doing the whole politician’s wife thing. And putting up with me. Don’t think I don’t notice.”

Hermione laughed. “I knew I was fucked on that front when I married you,” she murmured. “But you’re worth having to traipse around orphanages and decorate Christmas trees on BBC.”

“I still appreciate it.”

“I know. Go do your conference call with Japan so I can go back to sleep.”

-

It took thirty minutes after she got through the entrance to disentangle herself from the Marquess of Salisbury, at which point she finally spotted Harry, who was sitting near the stage with - utterly unsurprisingly - Draco. As she watched, Harry tipped his head back and laughed. Draco actually smiled, the sort of thousand watt smile that the tabloids loved but that photographers rarely caught because it was, in her experience, reserved for her husband.

She crossed the room, stepping behind Harry’s chair. Draco saw her first, and his gaze shuttered.

“Granger,” he said, coolly.

Harry turned in his chair. “Oh, hi.” He glanced at her, then turned significantly more fully. “That dress is…” He reached for her hand, looking happy.

“Going to be all over the internet tomorrow,” Draco supplied.

“I really do love it when you anticipate exactly how badly I’m going to be slut shamed by fashion columnists on twitter. It’s always the highlight of my evening.”

Draco contemplated his scotch. “And yet, I’m never wrong.”

“I was about to say that it was making me regret not riding over with you,” Harry said. “And at this point, you could probably wear a Victorian gown with some kind of hideous veil and still get talked about on twitter.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be networking?”

“Probably.” Harry leaned back in his chair. “I made the rounds. He made the rounds. I told people to give really excessive amounts of money for endangered primates.”

Draco looked at her, face stony. “It’s not as if anyone can take my title away for failing to solicit large cheques, mother.”

“She’s not wrong,” Harry pointed out. “Do you want a drink, Hermione? It might take an hour to get over there, but I’ll try.”

“Maybe a glass of wine. Unless Draco would like to caution me about how there are going to be articles on my apparent alcoholism tomorrow.”

“Indubitably,” Draco said, standing up. “I’ll come with you. I need another drink if I’m getting through this.”

“Maybe if we all try really hard with the people in line, we can raise enough to go home early,” Harry said.

“Not likely, they always want more.” Draco made a vague gesture, waving her off. “Pansy was looking for you. Something about a scheduling conflict with both of you tomorrow. You should probably find her.”

Harry looked vaguely sheepish. “Oops. My plan definitely backfired. But I’ll find you with the wine?”

“I’ll just,” Hermione said, finally, “I don’t know, find someone else to talk to after I clear that up.”

“Great!” Harry kissed her cheek. “You’re good at that. I love you.”

Draco sounded bored. “Mm, public displays of affection. What happened to being stoic and British? The internet isn’t going to appreciate that either.”

“You’re probably right.” Harry stepped in, wrapping an arm around her waist with a grin. He leaned in and kissed her very thoroughly before she had a chance to protest. “I’ll take the hit.”

Hermione laughed. “You’re incorrigible and a truly terrible politician.”

“I can’t be that bad, I won.”

“Come on,” Draco said. “According to Hermione, we’re wasting valuable time that could be spent socializing.”

-

By the end of the night, Draco had sent her toward at least five people who had an apparent pressing need to talk with her, and Harry didn’t actually seem to have noticed.

She finally found him chatting with someone she didn’t recognize. Draco, thankfully, seemed to have gone home.

“Are you ready to leave?” she said, when he finally turned away from the woman.

Harry made a face. “Pansy says I have to do an interview. But I know it’s late.”

“I’m going to go.”

“I’ll be home soon. I promise. And I told Pansy I wasn’t doing anything before nine tomorrow unless there was some sort of a national emergency.”

It was nearly two hours later by the time Harry walked in the door. He threw his bow tie somewhere vaguely in the vicinity of the bedroom.

“I am so done with journalists.”

Hermione didn’t look up from her book. “Mm.”

Harry glanced at the coffee table. “That bottle of wine is half empty. Planning on sharing?”

“Thankfully, on my very private couch, I can do whatever I like without being judged by the fucking heir to the British throne. Unless you’d like to start. Or I suppose you could just continue standing around.”

“Uh oh,” Harry said, coming to lean over the back of the sofa. He pressed a kiss to her neck. “How much am I going to have to apologize?”

“Deeply. The sort of apologizing you can’t do with sex or flowers.”

“Ouch.” Harry tossed his jacket at a chair, then came around to sit on the couch, picking up her feet to put in his lap. “I’m sorry. I know he can be… challenging.”

“He’s actively hostile. And if I’m there, he tries to get rid of me, and you let him. You’ve been letting him for years.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, softly. “It’s just a little complicated.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, again. He tipped his head back against the sofa, closing his eyes. “But I’m sorry. He was worse than usual tonight. He hates being the center of attention.”

“I’ve never actually found that to be true, since he’s perfectly happy to be the center of yours.”

Harry opened one eye. “Sometimes he’s fucking terrible. But you’re not allowed to hold hating public events against him.”

“He’s been doing it his entire life. He was very literally born into it. Unlike the rest of us.” Hermione reached for her wine glass. “Who get eviscerated on twitter for wearing a red dress in public. I am, and I offer a direct quote, ‘a disgrace to women everywhere.’”

Harry snorted, pulling out his phone. “You can’t only look at twitter.” He scrolled, typed something, then tossed it at her. “See? Tumblr likes your dress and thinks we’re cute. There are even memes.”

“I can’t believe you still go on tumblr,” Hermione said, starting to laugh. “I think you might be the epitome of a filthy millennial, it’s a shame you weren’t born five months later so you’d actually fit in the right generation.”

“Oh, absolutely.” He grinned. “But I really like the hotforhermione hashtag. It’s gotten me through several very boring meetings this week.”

“Oh, god.” Hermione slid closer. “Just don’t show anyone else.”

“You mean aside from the hundreds of people who posted with it? Sure! No one will know.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.” Harry slid his thumb over the arch of her foot. “And I know Draco was awful, and I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave him alone, last time I disappeared in the middle of a charity ball he had some sort of panic attack in the cloak room.”

Hermione sighed. “I don’t care if you’re with him. And I know he hates crowds. But maybe steer him away from being so mean. The whole thing where he’s incredibly jealous and possessive isn’t very fun on my end.”

“It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that.” Hermione stopped to consider him. “As in, I spend a lot of time thinking he’s actually in love with you.”

“He’s not,” Harry said, finally, but it was a little too slow.

“ _Harry_.” She sat up. “Is there something you aren’t telling me?”

“No - god, not like that.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, yes, I’m not saying everything, but no, I’m not having an affair or anything.”

“Harry,” Hermione said, quietly. “We had that discussion. But it was a really long time ago. And the entire agreement was that we’d talk about it if either of us…”

Harry finally laughed, ruefully. “One, I am not having a bloody affair with Draco. Two, I’m the prime minister, it’s a little bit of a non-starter for one of us to be sneaking off.”

Hermione let out a breath. “Okay. But?”

Harry pulled her in against his side. “But I need to know if you want to keep a secret.”

“If I want to?”

“It’s complicated,” Harry murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. “You might see him a little differently. But it doesn’t have anything to do with me, so it’s not something you need to worry about.”

Hermione looked up at him. “If you’re about to tell me he’s gay, that’s not actually going to change anything about how I think of him, you know I don’t care about that.”

Harry looked at her for a long moment. “He’s not in love with me. He’s in love with you.”

“What?” Hermione sat up again. “Wait, what?”

“He doesn’t know I know,” Harry said, quietly. “So don’t say anything.”

“But he hates me,” Hermione managed. “It borders on visceral loathing. He can’t possibly.”

“It’s sort of funny, really. He’s never said a single negative thing about you when you’re not standing in front of him.”

“I -” Hermione ran a hand through her hair. “Did he say something? Maybe it was a joke. Or -”

“Yeah,” Harry admitted. “After my birthday party, when you stayed home because you had the flu. But he doesn’t remember any of it because he was the most drunk I’ve ever seen him.”

“But -”

“I knew before that. Hermione...”

“I need -” She finally took a breath, reaching to refill her wine glass. “You’re being astonishingly stoic about this.”

“I’ve had some time to get used to it. And it’s Draco. He’s - fuck, I don’t know.”

“Your family?” Hermione offered, when Harry didn’t finish the sentence.

“Yeah. I don’t mind. I think he’s in it for all the same stupid reasons that I love you.” He smiled. “So I can’t exactly hold it against him.”

“And you’re sure about it?” Hermione took a drink. “Really, really sure?”

“Yeah. Even without the drunken confession. I always know when you walk in a room because he stops looking at everyone else.”

“Does he even know me?” Hermione said. “Maybe it’s just an idea of a person.”

“That might be a little true.” Harry held out a hand for her glass. “He’s never dated anyone who didn’t care who he was. I don’t think he thinks anyone will ever be willing to put up with the whole thing for him. So he’s jealous that I have that. But he pays attention to everything. He knows you better than you think.” He laughed. “He’s gotten you birthday presents for the last few years. He just makes me pretend they’re from me.” He looked almost relieved. “I might be glad to come clean about this because now I can stop feeling guilty about taking credit for your favorite present three years running.”

She passed him the wine. “I thought maybe that was Pansy. You’re not very good at picking out first editions.”

“Nope.” He met her eyes. “He likes you. A lot. But I’m pretty sure he thinks being friends would hurt a lot more than being enemies.”

“Damn.” She let out a breath. “Why are you even telling me? Am I supposed to be letting him down gently? That’s not going to make anything any easier. It’s probably better if I keep pretending not to know.”

“Dunno,” Harry said, staring into the wine glass. “Except he’s really lonely, and he’s one of my two favorite people, and I think you’d like him a lot if he’d let you get to know him. And I -” He stopped, looking a little lost. “It’s important to me that he’s happy. He could use someone else in his corner.”

“Are you asking me to be friends with him? Or something else?”

“I don’t know about that either.” He went back to staring into his glass. “I’d hate it with anyone else, but for him, I could share you. I don’t know if you’d ever want that, but I could.”

“Is that all of it?” Hermione spread her fingers against his jaw, turning his face until he had to meet her eyes. “Because you’re terrible about lying by omission. And I think you might be.” 

“I’m not any good at lying in general.” Harry managed a smile. “It’s what makes me utterly inept at politics.”

“It’s what makes you good at politics,” Hermione murmured. “It’s why people trust you. But you’re leaving something out.”

“I - ” Harry finally let out a breath. “I love you more than anything. And I don’t want anyone else. But in some alternate universe where you and I never met at that house party, I’d probably have… thought about it. I used to, anyway. I’m sorry. But I just want him to be happy.”

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione nudged her nose against his. “Quit apologizing for being human.”

“I like this. I like what we’ve built together. I love you.”

“But you’ve thought about it.”

“It would be really different.” Harry swallowed. “My life would have been really different. I wouldn’t have done -” He gestured. “All this, I don’t think. My job. Politics. I couldn’t have. But I think you might understand giving up your own ambitions for someone else.”

“I have never regretted a single thing I gave up to be with you,” Hermione said, firmly.

“I’m not sure that’s true.” Harry tangled his fingers with hers. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

Hermione leaned her forehead against his. “Do you know how I know when you walk into a room?”

“No,” Harry said, finally.

“Because Draco always looks at you like he’s forgotten anyone else exists.” Hermione drew back just far enough that she could meet his eyes. “Every single fucking time.”

“Maybe.” Harry looked back at her. “Except I know how he feels about you.”

“It’s not exactly mutually exclusive.”

“We’ve been friends since we were eleven.” Harry laughed, ruefully. “I think I’d know. Or that we’d have done something about it in the last thirty years or so. I mean, before I met you. He’s never said anything.”

“He hates publicity. And you would have been a hell of a lot of publicity. And he’d have known that dating him meant giving a lot up. I don’t think he asks for much for himself.”

“No,” Harry agreed. He laughed again. “This might be the strangest conversation we’ve ever had. And I don’t even know what I’m asking for.”

“I don’t hate you with him. And I don’t hate him either.”

Harry managed another smile. “Just intense dislike?”

“He’s horribly cold with people he doesn’t like. But I’ve wished for a long time that he’d find a way to like me, because it seems worth the effort to get through. I know how he is with you.”

“Anything with this would be a complete political clusterfuck. It’s probably some sort of violation of at least six laws and multiple treaties.”

“Hah.” Hermione grinned. “You did claim that you’d improve relations with the monarchy.”

Harry didn’t seem to notice the joke. “I got elected because of said relations with the monarchy. Draco and I both know it. Because the entire country’s been seeing photos of us together since we were eleven. They like me because I’m with him. There’s supposed to be more separation than we have. That’s not going to get better if we…”

“One, if people hated the idea of the two of you as a team, they’d never have elected you. Two, if you had to make a hard decision that wasn’t in Draco’s favor, I think you’d do it.”

“I would,” Harry said, slowly. “I have.”

“I’ve never worried about it,” Hermione said, honestly. “Not even before you and I met. And people like it because the alternative is the relationship Lucius had with the former prime minister, and we both know how that went.”

“No,” Harry admitted. “Lucius hates me a lot less than he hated Dumbledore. Or at least, he likes that Draco has an in with the power I hold.”

“It’s not active hostility. People appreciate that after the last decade. And…” She reached, cupping his face. “Harry, everyone I talk to voted for you because they feel as if they know you. They’ve watched you grow up, but it’s not just that, it’s that you’re an open book. You’re different than anyone else.” She considered. “And frankly, I think part of the reason people are so desperate for transparency is because there’s been almost none from the monarchy. There wasn’t any from the last administration, either. Dumbledore played his cards close to his chest. So does Lucius.”

“Maybe. But I can’t -” He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “It would be so complicated, Hermione. I can’t ask that of him. I don’t want him to have to worry about what people would say.”

“The thing is, he’s already over here constantly. And it’s a lot more cover than you’d have had in school.” She kissed his forehead. “If anyone wants to accuse you of having an affair with him, I’m fully willing to laugh myself sick over the idea in the next interview I do.”

“We could just hand them all the internet memes about our bromance,” Harry said, finally, dryly. His face had cleared.

“Do I even want to know?”

Harry snorted. “Pansy keeps printing them out and leaving them on my desk to torture me.”

“Thus showing exactly how seriously everyone takes the idea.”

“Maybe.” Harry looked at her, finally, meeting her eyes. “I’m not even sure we should be talking about this. It feels like a pretty huge violation of his privacy.”

“Yeah.” Hermione ran a thumb over his cheekbone, before she took his glasses off. “We should sleep on it. Especially since I’m not even sure what ‘it’ is.”

Harry closed his eyes again. “Me either. But I’ll at least talk to him about being less awful.”

Hermione lifted her other hand to run her fingers through his hair, then slid into his lap, straddling him. “Let me try. It’s no good if he’s only doing it because you asked.”

“Okay.” He settled his hands on her hips, looking up at her. “Do you want to go to bed? I know it’s late.”

Hermione laughed. “It’s been three years, and you still haven’t figured out how to tell when I’m coming on to you.”

“Oops.” Harry grinned. “I can’t see anything, blame it on that.”

“You can probably tell I’m in your lap,” Hermione said, dryly. “It’s a strong hint.”

“Shut it,” Harry said, and leaned up to kiss her.

-

Draco sent his security detail off once he’d gotten in the door of the flat, hung up his coat, and then stopped.

“Oh,” he said, not sounding particularly happy. “You’re here.”

“I’m the one that’s making dinner, so I’d hope so,” Hermione said.

“Harry neglected to mention that.”

“Because I wanted you to actually come over,” Harry said, coming in from his office. “Except I’m about to really ruin your evening, because they just upgraded this idiotic hurricane and now I have to go stand around with advisors and look at dire weather predictions for the Virgin Islands. I’ll be back, but I think it’s going to be a few hours.”

“I could go,” Draco said.

“She already has dinner in the oven.” Harry pulled on a jumper. “And one of the staff just restocked the liquor cabinet. Don’t tell me you have something better planned. At least eat.”

Draco finally considered the situation and seemed to realize he wasn’t likely to win. “I’ll stay for dinner.”

“Brilliant,” Harry said, coming to kiss her cheek with a grin. “Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Hermione laughed. “That’s a very short list.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said, before he disappeared out the door.

She turned toward Draco. “Thanks for sticking around even though it’s just me.”

He didn’t quite look at her, going toward the sideboard. “He could be back soon. And my driver wouldn’t be particularly impressed with a two minute turnaround time.”

“I have a bottle of wine open if you want some. I’m just going to go check on the food.”

Draco followed her into the kitchen after he’d poured himself a glass of scotch. “How long are we standing here making incredibly awkward small talk before we eat and I can go without irritating Harry?”

Hermione decided to ignore him and went to look in the oven door. “It’s beef wellington. Which I happen to know is your favorite.”

“Let me guess, you asked Harry.”

“No,” Hermione said, shortly. “I just paid attention. You’ve said so.”

“Mm.” Draco lifted his drink at her, in a mocking sort of toast. “You really are the perfect wife.”

Hermione considered him, then took a few steps towards him, until he was too close to really be able look away.

“Draco,” she said, quietly, “I’m not doing this anymore.” She gestured between them. “The thing where you’re an absolute fucking prick, and I take the bait every single time because I don’t know what else to do. And because I feel like I have to hold my ground over Harry. I’m done.”

“You don’t get to tell me to leave just because you don’t like me.” Draco had taken a step back. “Harry wouldn’t let you.”

He looked exactly the way he always looked at parties when Harry wasn’t around, cold and close to angry, but she could suddenly see through the front. He was scared.

“I’m not trying to take Harry from you.” She looked up at him. “I never have been. I mean it.”

“You seem to have managed perfectly regardless of intention, Hermione.”

“ _Stop_ ,” she said, softly. “I’m not asking you to leave. Believe it or not, I like you, or at least I could if you were the person toward me that you are toward Harry instead of being so awful that I end up crying in the car on the drive home.”

“I’m…” Draco looked away. “That wasn’t my intention.”

“We have to do better. I can’t actually imagine the pressure you’ve always been under, but you can’t just never trust anyone to have your best interests at heart.”

“Are you going to tell me it’s for Harry’s sake?”

“No. It’s for mine.” Hermione took a breath. “I know who you are, I have a front row seat to exactly what Harry sees, but you’ve never let me on the stage. And I’m frankly jealous that he has this friend who understands what our lives are like, this really funny and kind person who’s always shown up for him. Meanwhile I get the side of you that’s cutting and standoffish and who views eating dinner together as an act that would probably violate the Geneva Convention.”

Draco was quiet for a very long moment.

“I’m not particularly special,” he said, finally. “You’d just regret trying. This is easier.”

“I don’t actually think it is.” Hermione took a step closer, tentatively resting her hand on his arm. “And the only thing I’m going to regret is if you keep shoving me away because you’re afraid I’ll take Harry. Or because you’re afraid of having meaningful relationships with people who didn’t sneak past your guard at age eleven.”

“That’s below the belt, Hermione.”

“I’ve met your father. And I’ve suddenly got a very good idea of what it’s like when plenty of people only want to be around you because they want a little bit of the power you’re holding. So I get it. But you could have both of us.” She managed a smile. “It’d be nice to feel as if I were an addition to Harry instead of a detriment to every interaction you have with him.”

“You’re not a detriment,” Draco said, shortly. “But I need another drink.”

“Okay.” Hermione took a step back, because she knew what it was like to feel cornered. “I’ll be in here. If you want to come back.”

Draco glanced toward the sitting room. “No.”

“I understand. But I meant what I said. I’m not fighting anymore.” 

“No, I meant…” Draco sounded, for the first time in memory, awkward. He lifted a hand to the back of his neck. “I was trying to say that you shouldn’t stay in the kitchen. You could come with.” He wasn’t looking at her. “If you’d like. I’d understand if you wouldn’t want to.”

Hermione considered Draco for a moment, then stepped past him. “I want to.”

Draco went back to the sideboard, carefully looking at at least five bottles of scotch they’d been given for the holidays before he picked one. He went to stand by the window, looking out. He didn’t say anything, but he downed half the glass in one swallow and kept staring into the darkness, looking distant and unreadable. Hermione finally went to stand beside him.

“They’re starting to put up the holiday lights in the park,” she murmured. “It looks nice, I suppose. I wish they’d do more of the colored ones, though.”

“I was always first,” Draco said, quietly, after a few more minutes.

“First?”

“With Harry.” Draco still hadn’t looked at her. “For almost thirty years, I was always first. He didn’t have anyone when he came to school, and if we’re honest, I didn’t either. You have, as you so charmingly put it, met my father.”

“I’m sorry your parents made you feel so alone.” Hermione looked at his profile, and he wasn’t all that unreadable after all. He just looked incredibly unhappy. “And I’m listening.”

“You do that,” Draco murmured, turning toward her. “It’s very aggravating.”

Hermione laughed softly. “Sorry?”

“I was…” Draco was watching her in the dim glow coming from the streetlight just outside the window. “I was his first call when something happened in the middle of the night. I was the first person he texted when the plane touched down. I got all his secrets. I knew him by heart. And then you came along.”

“Draco,” Hermione said, softly, “if we were both drowning and Harry had exactly one life preserver, I know exactly who he’d save. And he wouldn’t think about it twice. It wouldn’t be me.” She offered a smile. “And I don’t mind, because I’m glad he has you. I don’t need to be first.”

Draco finally started to laugh, sounding almost bitter. “And that’s the problem,” he said. “That’s why you’re aggravating. I ought to hate you. I desperately want to hate you. You took him from me. But I can’t seem to manage it. You make him too happy. And I didn’t believe any fundamentally decent people existed in the world, but then you came along and ruined my cynical outlook.”

“I’m very trying that way.”

“Exceptionally,” Draco agreed. “You might even say infuriatingly.”

“I do my best.” Hermione smiled, then stopped, almost thoughtfully, looking up at him. “I don’t know him as well as you do. I’m never going to catch up. I can’t be there in the same ways you can. And I don’t ever want him to lose that.”

“I think it’s possible you might be able to be there in a few ways I can’t,” Draco said, dryly.

“Maybe. But that’s probably only because you’ve never asked. And I wouldn’t mind if you asked.”

“That was a joke. An attempt at a minor concession toward the fact that you’re married to him and that I’m working on accepting it. Feel free to take the olive branch.”

“Alternatively,” Hermione said, “you might feel free to take the hint.”

Draco went very still. “We’ve never -” he started, then met her eyes, looking quietly furious. “I would _never_ , Hermione. I know I haven’t been fair to you, but I do, in fact, respect your marriage. Give me even the smallest amount of credit.”

“I might be really terrible at this conversation. Actually, I’m definitely really terrible at this conversation. I wasn’t implying anything had happened. Or that you’d try something.”

“I can’t tell what we’re talking about. And it’s already abundantly clear that you have him, so it’s not as if you need to shove it in my face.”

“I’m miserably bad at subtlety.” Hermione tried a smile. “So if I try to spell something out as clearly as I can, and you hate what I’m saying, can you chalk it up to the influence of several glasses of wine and a sincere effort to make it clear that I don’t want to keep him from you? We never have to talk about it again if I’m wrong about this.”

Draco’s expression had shifted from anger to what she recognized as curiosity. “All right.”

“I don’t know if you’ve ever thought about it,” Hermione murmured, “and you’ve been friends for this long, so maybe it’s never happened because no one’s interested. But if you ever actually wanted to sleep with him or have a relationship that’s more than just being friends, I wouldn’t care.”

“I’m not going to take him.”

“Not instead of me. But I don’t mind sharing. I already share, really.” She laughed. “Let’s be honest, if I wanted you to spend less time with him, I’d probably start a campaign to get the two of you to give up chess. Sex definitely takes less time than the six hour chess games.”

“He’s never wanted that with me,” Draco said, which wasn’t the objection she’d been expecting.

“I’m not so sure that’s true.”

“He’s never said anything.” Draco looked out the window again, but then turned toward her again, as if he couldn’t quite help it. “Or even come close to saying anything. Has he?”

“You’re asking the wrong person. But you should ask.”

“Politically…”

“You’d have to keep it to yourself. But - and I might be wrong - I’m not entirely sure you’d really want anyone to know about who you were sleeping with even if it were the world’s most perfect match. You know, some glamorous and extremely attractive blonde duchess the entire public adores.”

Draco actually laughed. “That would be my idea of literal hell, thank you.”

“I’m just saying, you can have it if you both want it. And I won’t care.”

Draco was quiet. “I think…” he started, and then the smoke alarm went off.

“Oh, fuck,” Hermione said, right before at least four protection command officers nearly broke down the front door.

“Well,” she said, twenty minutes later, when it had been thoroughly verified that the only threat was Hermione’s inability to keep an eye on the oven, “that didn’t go as well as I’d hoped.”

Draco laughed. “You didn’t actually burn the entire historic complex down, I suppose we ought to be grateful.”

“Something like that.” She poked the charred remains of dinner with a fork. “If you still want to eat, we’re probably going to have to ask the kitchens for something.”

“Thai?” Draco glanced over at her, almost tentatively. “I have a sneaking suspicion Harry isn’t coming back, so we might as well get something he hates while we’ve got the opportunity.”

“I like the way you think.”

Draco was fairly quiet during dinner, although he seemed willing to talk about the latest book he was reading and had a funny story about hibernating bats in one of the country residences.

“It’s late. I could go.”

“You could,” Hermione said, then surprised herself with the sudden impulse to keep him around. “But I was going to bake Christmas cookies. I could use help, if you wanted to stay. Someone should probably watch the oven timer.”

“You don’t seem to be particularly good at that, no.” He looked at the door, then back at her. “I’ll help. Although I feel as if I should disclaim that I’ve never done this before.”

Hermione had to stop herself from staring. “You’ve never made Christmas cookies?”

“The kitchens make Christmas cookies, and I eat them.” Draco looked embarrassed. “No one ever let me learn to bake.”

“Fortunately for you, I have been on The Great British Bake Off twice. I learned many things.” She grinned. “I’m a decent cook when I’m not setting things on fire.”

“I know. You’ve been making things for me for three years.”

“If only you hadn’t complained constantly, I might have a better idea of your actual opinion.”

“You’re very demanding.” He followed her into the kitchen, taking the bowl she passed to him. “This whole thing where you expect me to be nice to you is a bit much.”

“Well?”

“Quit fishing for compliments.”

“So it would be a compliment.”

“Let’s put it this way,” Draco said, laughing, “Even I couldn’t bring myself to feign dislike of your waffles.”

Hermione started pulling the ingredients out.

“I’ll do gingerbread, you do the sugar cookies.”

“This is going to go very poorly, and I’d like to point out that I warned you in advance when they end up horrifyingly deformed and inedible.”

“The first part isn’t a problem. You know how Harry feels about Christmas cookies.”

“He’s terrible,” Draco agreed. “I got him a box last year from the best bakery in London. He didn’t even eat any. But one of his secretaries brought in some that her four year old made, and he showed them off to the entire office and ate every single one.”

“There’s a reason I’m making them. He claims the ones from the kitchens are too perfect.”

“That’s nice of you. Maybe I’ll get points for joining the effort.”

Hermione laughed. “I’m not sure you need any.”

Draco glanced up from where he was crouched, halfway through pulling out a bag of flour. “Don’t start on that again.”

“I wasn’t,” Hermione said, amused. “Although now I know what you’re thinking about.”

“I’m not dignifying that with a response.”

Hermione grinned. “Except that was a response.”

“Absolutely insufferable,” Draco muttered, dropping the flour on the counter. “Now tell me what to do.”

Half an hour later, he pointed at the cooling rack where he’d very carefully transferred his cookies. “All right. I have five good ones, three adequate, and two mediocre.” He was looking at them fairly critically. “I don’t think any are unsalvageable. Yet.”

Hermione laughed. “Those look so perfect that Harry might hate them. I definitely hate them, mine aren’t doing so well.”

“I’d better check.” Draco stepped close behind her, then reached around and broke one of the legs off a slightly misshapen reindeer, taking a bite. “Hmm. That one tastes decent.” He took the antler off another. “That one too. I suppose quality control would be willing to sign off on them.”

“Quit eating those,” Hermione protested, laughing.

Draco smiled over her shoulder, familiar and unfamiliar all at once. “I’m doing it on purpose,” he said, obviously trying for straight-faced. “Harry will like them much better if they’re charity reindeer with no heads.”

“Your snowflakes are all identical, so I think you ought to lose points for implausibility,” Hermione started, turning around before she’d fully noticed just how close he was.

“I’d apologize for seemingly being better at this than you, but I wouldn’t mean it,” Draco said, still smiling, but it slowly slid off his face when she looked up at him, trapped between him and the counter. He glanced down, almost imperceptibly, at her mouth, and her breath caught. He looked focused, as if he were considering all the possibilities, and something like hungry. She could almost see him thinking, doing the mental calculus. He stayed close just a moment too long.

“Draco,” Hermione murmured, when he’d shifted closer, leaning in.

“Yes?” he said, voice lower than usual.

“I -” she started, but he smiled again, then suddenly drew his hand back and tossed a handful of powdered sugar in her face.

“What,” Hermione managed.

“It was right there,” Draco said, helpfully. “I gave in to temptation.”

“Oh my god,” Hermione said, faintly. Then she reached behind her for the flour and threw it at him.

Ten minutes later, when Harry walked in, they were both laughing too hard to breathe and the kitchen was an utter disaster.

“I’m home -” Harry said, then stopped dead in the doorway. “Um. Wow.”

“Leaving us alone together may not have been the best idea you’ve ever had,” Draco said, still breathless.

“Dunno.” Harry went to take a cookie, looking thoughtful. “On the one hand, I think I’m about to spend at least an hour trying to clean the kitchen while you try to make yourself presentable enough to go home. On the other, you’re still here, which I definitely didn’t think would happen, and there are Christmas cookies. I might like it.”

“I might need a shower.” Draco ran his hands through his hair and laughed when flour went everywhere. “I absolutely need to borrow clothes. Do you want help cleaning this up? I’m going to assume you’re refusing to call housekeeping.”

“Housekeeping is so I don’t have to spend Saturdays dusting,” Hermione said. “Not so I can destroy the kitchen and then make them fix it.”

“Hah, I like how you have no guilt about destroying the kitchen then making me fix it,” Harry said.

“None whatsoever.”

“I’m going to find a broom. You heathens can shower.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I never want to hear about weather again, by the way,” Harry said, pulling the blankets over his head. “Ever. They spent an hour talking about barometric pressure. I don’t actually even know what that is. Cleaning up the kitchen was amazing by comparison.”

Hermione laughed, putting her toothbrush back and sliding in beside him. “I do, and I still wouldn’t want to talk about it for an hour.”

“Maybe it wasn’t a whole hour,” Harry conceded. “But that and the ocean currents and wind speed and other weather stuff definitely took an hour.”

“Weather stuff, huh,” Hermione said, wrapping an arm around him. “I see why you love your job.”

“It seemed like…” Harry tossed his glasses vaguely in the direction of the bedside table. “You know, it went okay here. Maybe? I’m sorry I had to leave.”

Hermione stroked a palm up his side. “I don’t think that was such a bad thing. I doubt he’d have conceded anything in front of you.”

“Probably not. Did he? Concede anything, I mean.” Harry pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Not that we have to talk about it.”

“We might have to,” Hermione said, starting to laugh, “because I might have said some things I should probably have talked to you before saying. Or maybe at least had more than a five minute conversation with you about before saying.”

“Uh oh.” Harry grinned. “That’s usually my job.”

“Like the time you committed us to a three week tour of Australia without asking?”

“Definitely not. I was blameless in that situation. It was Pansy.”

Hermione moved so she could look at him. “I think he’s scared of losing you to me,” she said, quietly. “Really scared. A lot more than I ever realized.”

Harry closed his eyes. “I know. Maybe not the whole extent of it, but I know it’s been hard on him.”

“I told him he didn’t need to worry about it. And that he was welcome to as much of you as he wanted.”

“He doesn’t. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I might have also, you know,” Hermione said, after a minute, “strongly implied that if what you both wanted involved snogging under the mistletoe, I wouldn’t care.”

“ _What_?” Harry said, sitting up.

“Australia,” Hermione reminded him. “And that time that you told me we were getting dinner with your friends so I showed up to a meeting with the American president in yoga pants.”

“I like her, we’re friends,” Harry protested. “Also, that’s definitely not the same thing.”

“I didn’t say anything had to happen,” Hermione pointed out. “I said you could both talk about it if you wanted to.”

“That seems like a terrible idea, and you shouldn’t have said anything. I mean - I don’t even know if I… or if he even…”

“One, he definitely does. Two, if you stopped thinking so hard, you definitely would. Three, I felt like it was completely unfair to put him in a position where you were considering doing something about it and he didn’t know. I know exactly how you are. You decide on something, and then you start to move on it without remembering to tell anyone else.”

“I do not,” Harry muttered.

“You’d think about it,” Hermione said, amused, “and you’d know that I was okay with it, because I said I was okay with it. So you’d start in with all the exceptionally long glances and dirty jokes and touching him a little too long, and it would drive him absolutely insane. I know because you told me that you didn’t want to go out with me, and then you pulled all that.”

“I didn’t mean to. I just -” He finally laughed. “I thought you were too good to be dating a career politician, and then all my self control completely failed me.”

“You have to have room to change a relationship like that,” Hermione murmured. “And I don’t think either of you is going to be any good at having an actual conversation, so it’s just going to be subtle hints that move into something else.”

“He’d just panic and run off,” Harry admitted. “Or I’d panic and run off. Dunno.”

“I told him because you can’t try anything if he thinks you’re too married to be interested.” She reached to brush his hair out of his face. “And, from experience, you might be the most romantically inept person I’ve ever met.”

“Hey,” Harry said, still laughing. “Take that back. You married me.”

“You gave me a scarf for Christmas after we’d been dating for six months.”

“The internet said that was a good gift,” Harry protested. “I googled. And it was a nice scarf.”

Hermione grinned. “I should also bring up the thing where you took a phone call and left to handle some sort of political thing the first time we had sex without even getting me off first, and that you proposed to me entirely by accident.”

“God, shut it,” Harry said, kissing her. “I’ve told you at least a thousand times that I have absolutely no idea why you’re with me. But you can’t blame me for your terrible taste.”

“At this point, I just have Stockholm syndrome. I only stay because you’re very attractive. This whole constantly needing a haircut thing and the part where you never have matching socks really does it for me.”

“It’s charming,” Harry said, grinning against her mouth. “I’m charming. You love me.”

“I do,” Hermione agreed, then drew back. “I’m okay with you doing what you want here. But you might want to… tell him he has room with me, too. And that has to come from you.”

Harry studied her face. “Do you want that?”

“No idea,” Hermione admitted. “It’s a little new to not be sniping at each other. But he’s sort of…” She gestured. “Overwhelmingly attractive and intense in a way I like.”

Harry laughed. “I don’t know, I don’t think he’s your type. His hair is always absolutely perfect, and Buzzfeed has definitely never had a slideshow of his sock mishaps.”

Hermione paused, trying not to laugh. “Definitely not. But I should probably admit that my roommate and I absolutely had a poster of him on our wall.”

“Wait, there are posters?” Harry suddenly sounded gleeful. “Do we think I could find some on eBay? I’m going to cover his office.”

“Pansy probably has backchannels.”

Harry smiled, then went quiet for a moment. “I’ll figure out how to say something. It’s probably going to involve a ridiculous amount of alcohol, but that’s okay.” He considered her again. “Besides, it would be nice not to feel guilty for keeping it from him that I know how he feels about you.”

“I don’t know what we’re doing, exactly,” Hermione admitted. “I hate playing things by ear. But it seems like the only option.”

“Me either.” Harry laughed. “But he might quit feeling agonizingly stressed over all of it and relax for five minutes. It’d be novel. He might like it, you never know.”

“I would definitely work to make that happen on purpose,” Hermione said, thoughtfully. “Has he ever dated anyone for longer than about five minutes?”

“Nope, and it’s probably more like two. Why?”

“That means we both know him better than anyone he’s ever slept with.” 

“Hah. You’re assuming he ever sleeps with anyone.”

“Doesn’t he?”

Harry snorted. “He only sleeps with people he’s dating, and he only dates anyone for two minutes, so I’m going to let you draw your own conclusions on exactly how much sex he isn’t having. Which is exactly none of my business, really. Although definitely don’t ask him what he thinks about sex in general. He’s actually used the phrase ‘not sure what all the fuss is about,’ I don’t even know where to start.”

“Be nice,” Hermione said, poking his side. “And quit telling me things he wouldn’t want me to hear.”

Harry snorted. “The horse is definitely out the barn door on that one.”

“Sex isn’t the end all be all.”

“No,” Harry agreed. “And if I thought he just wasn’t interested in it in general, that wouldn’t matter, some people aren’t. But I think he is, he’s just the sort of person who’d like an emotional connection but never has one because he won’t let anyone in.”

“I can probably sell him on it. If he wants.” Hermione laughed. “You seem happy. And I’ve already proven my discretion when it comes to sleeping with very important political figures.”

“Very happy,” Harry murmured, shifting to nuzzle her neck.

She glanced over Harry’s shoulder. “And I’m just saying, this bed would fit three people.”

“Wait -” Harry said, looking almost startled. “We could…”

“It does seem like the logical conclusion.”

Harry stared for a minute, then suddenly grinned. “We’re going to ruin his life.”

“Assuming he wants us to,” Hermione pointed out.

“We’re going to very carefully get consent for everything and make sure he’s on board,” Harry said, “and then we’re going to ruin his life.”

-

“I have a question.” Hermione was lying on the floor in front of the fireplace with a book. “Does Draco text you constantly at all times of the day and night? Or is this just because he’s stuck in Stockholm and miserable?”

“Yes.” Harry was playing a game on his phone, sprawled on the sofa. “I mean, yes, constantly, but also yes, it’s worse when he travels.”

“This is -” Hermione scrolled back through her texts. “The eighth photo of a row house today. And the third of a cathedral.”

“It’s an affectionate gesture. Just send him back some photos of the cat, he likes those.”

“Hmm. I took a video of Crookshanks playing with a Christmas ornament this morning.”

“Perfect,” Harry said, absently.

“I actually like the cathedrals. Did you see those?”

Harry glanced up from his phone, looking tired. “It’s also possible he’s texting you incessantly because he’s, well, not exactly speaking to me.”

“What happened?”

“I tried to have a conversation about everything,” Harry said. “It kind of turns out he wasn’t very happy about me waiting five months to tell him that he got blackout drunk and told me he had feelings for you.” He sighed. “I think he’s furious and mortified, which isn’t exactly a great combination.”

“I’ll just send more cat pictures. I can kind of get where he’s coming from.” She used zoom to take a photo of Crookshanks where he was sleeping under the Christmas tree. “But I get where you were coming from too.”

“He thinks I should have said something the second he was sober so he could’ve apologized. I tried to make the point that I didn’t actually think he needed to apologize, which was the entire thing I was trying to say, that I didn’t mind about you two. But then I got really yelled at. He thinks I’m lying about being okay with it. Because, according to him, I’ve always just gone around falling on swords for him or something. So he thinks I’m just trying to make him happy. He said any normal person would be absolutely furious. I may or may not have yelled back. It wasn’t great.”

“Brilliant.” Hermione looked at the time stamp on Draco’s last text, then sat up, dialing her phone.

“What are you -”

Draco picked up on the second ring. “Hi. Is everything all right? Is Harry all right?”

“You’re on speaker,” Hermione said, mildly. “I’m about to hand the phone to Harry. You’re going to have a functional conversation with my husband where no one screams at anyone else. I’m making you do it, because you’re both idiots. Having had multiple conversations with him on this particular topic, I’m going to reassure you that he’s not being self-sacrificing. Maybe hear him out.”

There was a very long pause. “All right,” Draco said, finally.

“Voila.” Hermione handed her phone to Harry. “No one is allowed to royally fuck this up. Have fun.”

“Okay,” Harry said, after a minute. “But Draco might be a little allowed. He can royally do anything he wants. He literally owns six crowns.”

“Technically, I believe they’re the property of the crown, the entity, so I own exactly zero crowns,” Draco said, but he sounded amused. “Actually, that’s not right, I have that one you got for me. It’s constantly getting glitter all over my closet.”

“Hah. You kept it.”

Hermione bent to kiss Harry’s cheek. “Come find me later, I’ll be in the bedroom. Draco, I’ll text you.”

Almost two hours later, Harry finally crawled into bed behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist and burying his face against her neck.

“Thanks,” he said, quietly. “I think it’s okay now.”

“It had better be okay after that long.”

“We did sort of talk about rugby for an hour in the middle,” Harry admitted. “And how terrible the food in Stockholm is. And your Christmas gifts.”

“Men.” Hermione rolled over and slid a hand to the back of Harry’s neck. “You’re useless.”

“He gets why I don’t mind now,” Harry said, making a soft noise when she rubbed her thumb over the curve of his shoulder. “And he understood that I didn’t know how to say anything about it. But now I’m really tired.”

“I’m glad you sorted it,” Hermione murmured. “Although I think you’re ruining your back with all that tension. Want me to fix that? I’m willing to wage war against this knot.”

“Yeah.” Harry nuzzled her neck. “I love you. A lot. Probably excessively. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I guess I’ll struggle through somehow.” Hermione smiled. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s a trial, I don’t love you back at all.”

-

“Quit eating that,” Hermione said, when she realized that the other half of her popcorn garland was getting distinctly light on popcorn.

“I wasn’t doing anything!” Harry paused, a piece of popcorn halfway to his mouth. He was lying on his back on the floor, being distinctly unhelpful. “I mean, all right, maybe I ate some of it. But not that much.”

Hermione lifted the popcorn garland, which was definitely half gone, and raised an eyebrow.

Harry laughed. “Does anyone even like those? They probably attract ants. I should eat all of it solely for pest control purposes.”

“I distinctly recall you saying you’d hang ornaments,” Hermione said, amused. “And your share are still in the box.”

“I’m playing a valuable role by pretending to be in my office at two in the morning so Draco doesn’t know what we’re up to.” Harry waved his phone at her. “He’s definitely on his way. But he’s just sending me gifs of people who are dying, it may be a bad sign.”

“Are you really not getting up?”

“Nope.” Harry ate another piece of popcorn. “I’ll supervise from here.”

“I’m not going to be able to get the top branches.” Hermione hung up a snow globe. “You’ll have to help.”

“Alternatively, you can find a step ladder. Or someone with better decorating skills than us can finish in the morning.”

“Harry,” Hermione said, laughing, “the entire point is that we’re doing this ourselves. You can’t just farm off the top third of the tree to some hapless Kensington palace staffer because you won’t get up off the floor.”

“I hate it when you refuse to let me get above myself,” Harry said. “It’s very annoying.” He pointed. “You missed a spot, that doesn’t have any ornaments.”

“I will kill you in your sleep.”

“What the hell?” Draco said, from the doorway.

“Oh, hey,” Harry said, making absolutely no move to get up. “Did you know that your security detail takes bribes? They let us in just for some Christmas cookies. Very problematic, you probably ought to shore that up.”

Hermione finished getting a small ceramic dove onto the tree, then smiled. “Hi. We brought dinner. And a really excessive amount of wine.”

“It’s two in the morning,” Draco said. “Why are you in my cottage?”

“We’re glad to see you too,” Harry said, dryly. “And you’re supposed to be turning over a new leaf with Hermione, so don’t ruin it by being short with her.”

“I wasn’t,” Draco said. He was still holding a bag. “But it’s two in the morning and you’re here and I’m not entirely certain what’s happening.”

Harry snorted. “Ask Hermione, she wanted to come over.” He finally climbed to his feet. “Or she thought of it first, and I thought it was a good idea.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Ignore him, his trade talks blew up, and he’s in a bad mood.”

“My afternoon wasn’t great, no. But I’m happy to see you.”

Harry went over, taking Draco’s bag and putting it on one of the armchairs. He looked at him for a long moment, searching his face, then pulled him into a hug.

“We thought you could use some friendly faces and alcohol after all the Swedes,” Harry said, not letting him go. “I was worried, there were hardly any photos of boats yesterday.”

“It’s possible that having to feign enthusiasm for crowds for an entire weekend took absolutely all of my energy.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, then murmured something close to his ear, too low for Hermione to hear. 

Draco glanced at her, then suddenly laughed, his shoulders starting to come down.

“Me too,” he replied.

“Thanks for leaving me out of the conversation,” Hermione said, dryly, then came over, holding out a glass of wine. “We’ve got chinese food too.”

Draco took a step forward, and, after only a few seconds of hesitation, hugged her. She nearly spilled the glass of wine, since he almost never voluntarily touched anyone who wasn’t Harry, but she leaned into it.

“Hi,” he said, quietly. “Thank you for thinking to come over. I know it’s late.”

“Harry watched the news.” She looked up at him. “It didn’t seem like you were having a good time yesterday.”

“I wasn’t,” Draco said, wryly. He’d let go of her, but he still hadn’t stepped back. “This time of year isn’t my favorite. I have to go to fucking Inverness next weekend for some holiday market to support local businesses.” He sighed. “At least I don’t have to fly.”

“Take Hermione with you,” Harry suggested. “She claims her entire job is charity events.”

“Because it is,” Hermione said. “And choosing cakes. I’m glad I put my law degree to excellent use while deciding between buttercream and fondant.”

“That isn’t particularly good optics,” Draco said, lifting a hand to the back of his neck. “The two of us without you.”

“No, it’s great optics,” Harry replied. He’d started rummaging around in one of the boxes of ornaments. “One, your poll numbers jump five points every time you so much as get within five feet of an attractive woman your own age, even if she’s married. Your PR person says it softens your image.” He glanced back at them, then picked up a metal snowflake. “Two, you’ll look like you’re actually enjoying yourself, so it’ll make Scotland happy. Three, optics can go fuck themselves if it means you aren’t absolutely miserable for an entire weekend.”

Draco was quiet, searching her face. “Do you want to go? It’s last minute.”

“Of course. Besides, Padma will probably be thrilled if I volunteer to go to something in Scotland. And I won’t feel too badly about asking security to make changes, since it’s already done for you.”

“It’s possible I could use the help,” Draco said, finally. “This trip was largely drinking heavily and hiding in my posh hotel room.”

“I’ve got you.” Hermione smiled. “You can avoid the unhealthy coping mechanisms.”

Draco took the glass of wine. “Why do I suddenly have a Christmas tree?”

“Yours always looks like something out of a magazine. We wanted you to have a real one.”

“Homes and Gardens will be thrilled.”

“Hey,” Hermione said, elbowing him. “Be grateful we care.”

“No, I mean it. Their editor gets depressed over the Nottingham Christmas tree every single year. She says it’s horrifyingly boring and looks as if it came from Marks and Spencer.”

“We put up ornaments people sent,” Hermione said. “I gave you the best ones of Crookshanks. And Harry found every single crown with glitter. I’m not pretending to understand that joke.”

“Thank you.” Draco had stayed close, and she watched him glance between her and Harry for the third or fourth time.

“You can help if you want,” Hermione offered.

“Or you can collapse on the couch and drink heavily.” Harry smiled over his shoulder. “I can get the top third of the tree, Hermione did the rest. Go relax. Both of you.”

Draco went over to the couch and slid down it, looking significantly less formal than he usually did when she was around. “I’d argue, but I’m exhausted.” He looked at Harry, then up at her. “You could… if you’d like, I - although I know you’re decorating, so it’s fine.”

“What?” Hermione said.

Harry snorted. “He’s trying to get you to cuddle on the couch. It helps if you use words, Draco.”

“Don’t,” Draco said, almost sharply. “I’m tired. And I know it’s easy for you, but it isn’t for me.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Harry said, putting down the tinsel he was trying to use and coming over. He crouched next to Draco. “Quit being so wound up. I’m not fighting with you, we already did that this week.” He reached to squeeze Draco’s shoulder. “I’m on your side, don’t be prickly. I hate hedgehogs. They’re terrifying. You know this. What kind of animal just goes around eating worms and having spines? It’s not natural.”

Draco let out a breath, then laughed. “Sorry. I’ll refrain from being a hedgehog. But only since you seemingly have an irrational fear of them.”

Harry went back to the tinsel. “It’s not irrational, they’re definitely agents of evil.”

“I’m in.” Hermione kicked her shoes off. “Let’s just acknowledge that it’s going to be agonizingly awkward for about two minutes, and then we’ll be fine.”

“That,” Draco admitted, “is why I’m drinking this wine quickly. And probably why I’m snapping at Harry.”

Hermione settled in against his side, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Not too terrible,” she decided, smiling up at him. “You’re warm.”

“You’re completely fucked, by the way,” Harry said, over his shoulder. “She’s like a vampire with heat. And her feet are always cold.”

“Guilty,” Hermione said, shoving her feet under Draco’s legs. “Your entire job in life is now keeping me from freezing to death.”

“I believe I can manage that,” Draco said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. 

She slid a hand under his shirt, resting her palm against his stomach. “You’re going to regret agreeing to this.”

Draco let out a breath. “Your hands are ice cold.”

Hermione grinned. “I’m working on fixing it.”

Draco looked at Harry again, suddenly hesitant, and Harry rolled his eyes and threw a crocheted star at him.

“You don’t have to keep checking in,” Harry said.

She actually felt Draco relax. “Okay,” he said, suddenly sounding drowsy. “Although I should probably point out that you have all the red Christmas ball ornaments in one spot.”

“Damn,” Harry said. “Who packed these boxes, anyway?”

“You did that one,” Hermione said, amused.

“Now I have to move these.” Harry sighed. “It’s possible I’m starting to hate Christmas.”

Later, Hermione woke up to Harry shaking her shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Car’s here. Go get in, I’ll make sure Draco ends up in a real bed. I’m right behind you.”

She managed to get in without fully waking up, then tipped over into Harry’s lap once he climbed in. He slid the divider closed from the front, then ran his fingers through her hair with a smile.

“Is Draco in bed?” she said, drowsily.

“Yeah. It took some convincing, though.”

“Mm.” She leaned into his touch. “That was… good. I think. I’ll think more when it’s not late.”

Harry laughed. “We’ll be home soon. You can sleep until we get there.”

“I was going to ask,” Hermione murmured, “what did you say when he came in? I’m dying of curiosity. And trying to learn how to help when he’s…”

“Being stupidly prickly?” Harry said, amused.

“Tired,” Hermione finished.

Harry grinned. “I said I thought you looked good in that dress. With some specific details that I appreciated about the view.”

“And that… worked?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “Because now he knows I meant what I said about not being jealous.”

“I don’t understand male bonding.” Hermione yawned. “And I don’t think that strategy’s going to help me. So I’m going back to sleep.”

Harry smiled. “I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

-

Hermione ducked through to the train car Draco was in, trying not to laugh when she saw him. He was shoved into the corner of a blue velvet couch with two blankets around him and headphones in, and he’d tied the draperies shut despite the fact that it was already dark outside. His eyes were closed.

“Hi,” she said, loudly, waving a hand in front of his face until he looked at her. “Forget I was coming?”

“You’re late. I wasn’t sure.”

“Something about flooding, we had to take a different route over.” Hermione looked down at her shirt, which was so wet it was sticking to her. “It’s fucking pouring.”

“You’d think London would be better about it.”

“I don’t suppose your exceedingly fancy train has towels,” she said, ruefully. “My clothes are in my suitcase, which seems to have gotten lost in the shuffle when I changed cars. Padma’s tracking it down.”

“I might hate nearly everything about my position,” Draco said, grinning, “but there is absolutely nothing better than the Royal Train. Of course there are towels. There’s absolutely everything.”

“I made sandwiches,” Hermione said, sheepishly. “I sort of forgot it has the whole dining car thing. I’m used to there only being a miserably bad snack cart.”

“There aren’t any staff in it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s security and a few engineers and that’s it, unless you brought anyone.”

“Oh, yes, my four maidservants and at least two butlers,” Hermione said, with a grin. “Can’t travel with just one, it wouldn’t be fitting for the Royal Train.”

“Shut it.”

“It’s just me, the people making sure I’m not kidnapped by cultists, and the sandwiches.”

“It’s charming.”

Hermione tried to wring her shirt out. “My security?”

“The sandwiches. Did you actually make them?”

“Of course I made them.” Hermione laughed. “Someone did my grocery shopping for the sandwich supplies since I’m not allowed to pop ‘round the corner to Tesco these days, but I put them together. What’s so charming?”

“You have an entire kitchen staff whose job is, quite literally, making sandwiches,” Draco said, amused. “It’s nice that you still want to do it.”

“My parents are dentists.” She finally gave up on her shirt. “I went to Oxford on scholarship. Before I married Harry, my flat was the size of a postage stamp, and I bought all of my clothes in consignment stores. _Not_ making my own sandwiches feels ludicrous.” She grinned. “This may be why my entire staff hates me, really.”

“People like that. The distinct lack of pretension.” He looked at her. “I like that. Thank you for bringing dinner.”

“Any time. But I’m a little concerned that I’ll ruin that couch if I sit on it, and it probably dates back at least two hundred years to one of your exceedingly stuffy relatives, so I really need that towel.”

Draco looked her up and down. “I’m not entirely sure the towel is going to be enough.”

“I know. I’m trying to decide whether I’d feel less guilty about sitting on the carpet and ruining that.”

“You could borrow something.”

The train finally started to pull out of the station. Draco’s head of security stuck her head in, nodded at him, and then locked the door behind her.

“Don’t worry.” He looked amused. “I’ve got a key. And there’s an override. But they all know that they shouldn’t come in short of the train being on fire. Presumably my head of security has briefed yours.”

“I wasn’t. Just marveling at exactly how much of an introvert you are. Should I feel guilty for ruining it?”

“Maybe a little. But the sandwiches nearly make up for it.”

“I’m really hoping we’re locked in with your suitcase.” Hermione gestured down. “This is officially a lost cause.”

“Better, I have a wardrobe.” Draco pointed to a door in a corner. “You can have anything you’d like.”

“You’re my new favorite person.”

Draco laughed. “I’ll be over here, texting that information to Harry. I promise not to look.”

“I’m very concerned about that,” Hermione said, dryly. “Tell him I’m taking my clothes off and you’re not looking and see what he says. He’s not going to be impressed.”

Draco looked up from his phone. “I no longer want to be friends with either of you. Quit dripping on my floor.”

“I’m working on it. You’re very demanding.” Hermione went to rummage in the wardrobe, found a jumper to pull on, toweled off her hair, and hung up her wet clothes. Draco was studiously looking at his phone, although she thought she saw him glance up.

“Shove over. And share the blankets.”

Draco looked at her, then went still.

“Are you blushing?” Hermione grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush. Don’t worry, you’re about four sizes bigger so the top covers everything.”

“No, I’m - there are jeans in there. You could wear those.”

“I think you have absolutely no concept of women’s sizes, I wouldn’t even be able to get them over my hips.”

Draco finally slid over on the couch, shoving a blanket toward her. He still looked embarrassed.

Hermione gave it a minute, then nudged him with her foot. “Can we have a conversation?”

“We’re already having one.”

“I’m not Harry,” she said, softly. “I’m not very good at flirtatious games and having really excessive amounts of self-confidence.”

“Me either.”

“I just need ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers to a few things. If you’re okay with that. I know we’re stuck on a train together for the next nine hours, so I can wait.”

Draco finally looked over at her, then laughed. “Can you? You’re absolutely incapable of waiting on anything once you put your mind to it. It’s possible you’re worse than Harry, which is saying something.”

“You’re not wrong,” Hermione admitted. “But I’m trying. And you’ve talked about it with him, and I’ve talked about it with him, and it seems stupid to keep mostly ignoring it with each other.”

He shifted closer, almost imperceptibly. “I’d rather get it over with.”

“I just need to know if you want this. Me, I mean. And whether you just want some of it. You don’t have to tell me about Harry if you don’t want to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I need to know what you’re okay with. How forward you want me to be.” She laughed. “I’m incredibly bad at subtlety. And - how carefully you’d like to play it with staff.”

Draco finally met her eyes. “Yes,” he said, quietly. “If you’re asking if I just want sex, no. I… like you too much for that. Yes with Harry, but I don’t know how that’s going to work. I’m still getting used to not having walls with you, so slower is easier. Nothing in front of them, but I’m not all that worried about it. Everyone in my personal protection detail has been with me for at least five years. I trust them. I know you’re not used to security details, but the NDA is iron-clad, especially on Harry’s end, because the information he deals with is so classified. As in, prosecuted for state sabotage iron-clad. And honestly, if you’re willing to die for someone, you probably don’t care who they’re sleeping with.” He stopped, ducking his head. “Not that we’re… I just meant…”

“I reviewed it,” Hermione interrupted, with a grin. “You’re very bad about forgetting the whole past life as a solicitor.”

“My point being,” Draco said, “it’s one of the few leaks I don’t worry about.”

“Anyone else is just going to write articles on your sandwich order.”

Draco laughed. “And I’m absolutely positive my father has had affairs. No one’s ever said anything, and his agents hate him.” He considered her. “Although, if I’m brutally honest, I’ll probably slip on purpose in front of Penelope. I don’t want them thinking Harry doesn’t know. He’s somehow made friends with all of mine.” 

Hermione studied his face. “Are you okay with me touching you? I get the impression you hate it from anyone who’s not Harry. Should I ask first?”

Draco looked at her and laughed, lower than usual. “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you ask a stupid question,” he murmured. “But that was definitely a stupid question.”

“That’s the last time I try to play nice.”

“I want that.” Draco’s voice was a little rough. “And, in case it wasn’t abundantly clear, I want you.”

“You can have me.” She leaned closer, laughing. “I thought it was going to take a while of you being nicer for me to be all in on the idea, but apparently not. Maybe it’s all the non-combative texting we’ve been doing in the last few weeks.”

“Actually,” Draco said, with a grin, “I like two things about the whole prince thing. The Royal Train and the fact that you had a poster of me in your bedroom.”

“I’m going to kill Harry.” Hermione started to laugh. “I was nineteen, you can’t hold it against me.”

“You say that, but you seem fairly willing to get over the part where I was terrible for three years on the basis of how I look with my shirt off.”

“You were terrible to me for three years. Don’t forget the part where you were yourself with Harry in front of me.”

“Maybe. Or... it’s that you like how I look with my shirt off.”

Hermione grinned. “That trip to Barbados wasn’t awful, I guess.”

“It was absolutely terrible.” Draco looked amused. “I had to spend all week looking at you on a beach. And I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“Next time. It’s very convenient that most of the British overseas territories are on tropical islands.” 

“I have to visit those occasionally,” Draco said, straight-faced. “Royal duty and all that. You should come to hand out plush dolphins to small children.”

“That’s about to be three things about your job. You’d better be careful, you’ll start liking the whole thing.”

“It’s easier with someone else around,” Draco admitted. “I don’t feel as isolated.”

“Luckily for you, my job is to show up places and wear fancy hats while saying hello to hundreds of people.” She nudged him with her foot. “And I’m perfectly willing to draw fire at this whole seasonal market. You’re welcome to hang back and look at candles.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Do you want to know anything?” Hermione said, after a minute. “From me?”

“Same questions,” Draco said, after he’d thought about it. “And whether you care about the whole prince situation.” He looked at her. “And yes, I know Harry’s on the same level, but his position isn’t forever. Mine is never going to change.”

“Yes I’m interested, no I don’t just want sex, yes I’m interested in Harry, be as forward as you want, take the lead on security because I’m terrible with it, and no, of course not.” Hermione hesitated for just a moment before she reached out to run her fingers through his hair. “You still deserve to be happy and have relationships if you want them. Quit thinking it’s black and white, where people either think it’s a dealbreaker or only want to be with you because of the power. It doesn’t actually matter to me. Or to Harry.”

“It might.” After a moment, Draco managed a smile. “I think you like my train.”

“I definitely like your train,” Hermione agreed.

Draco lifted his hand to the back of his neck. “I think that might be everything.”

Hermione laughed. “Even if it’s not, that’s your tell when you’re overwhelmed or embarrassed. I’m calling it.”

“Damn,” Draco said, ruefully. “I was hoping the only person who had figured that out was Harry.”

“Nice try, but no.” Hermione rummaged in her bag. She pulled out a book. “Grab dinner when you want it. You can go back to your movie if you want.”

Draco blinked. “You wouldn’t mind?”

Hermione laughed, then turned, settling in against his side. He looked startled, then suddenly pleased.

“I know you. You should probably have a little faith that I’m not going to ever ask you to be something you’re not. And you’re not someone who likes talking for hours on planes, even with Harry.”

“No,” Draco admitted. “But if you want me to, I can try.”

“I don’t. I’m not going to ask you to change. I don’t want that.” She laughed. “Aside from maybe making fewer comments about how twitter is going to criticize what I’m wearing.”

“I had to do something so I didn’t inadvertently admit to thinking you looked incredible.”

“Hmm. A secret code. I could like it.”

“Exactly,” Draco said, putting his headphones in.

A few hours later, Hermione had ended up with her head on a fairly lurid throw pillow in Draco’s lap, and he’d moved on to a second Christmas movie. They were also the better part of the way through a bottle of wine she’d opened.

“Hermione,” Draco murmured. She realized he’d been watching her. “Did you need anything? It seems possible I may be a terrible host.”

Hermione held up her book. “There’s this and wine. I’m very happy.”

“You and reading.” Draco was looking at her fondly. “I’m starting to suspect we could strand you in Antarctica, and you’d be perfectly fine as long as we left you with books.”

She laughed. “That might be cold. But otherwise, yes.”

Draco looked at her for a moment longer, something shifting in his eyes. He tilted her face up, leaned down, and kissed her.

It took her a moment to adjust, but then she kissed him back.

“This is a terrible angle,” she murmured against his mouth.

“Exceptionally bad,” Draco agreed, then kissed her again.

Hermione slid a hand up into his hair, pulling him down further, and kissed him until they were both breathless.

“Fuck,” Draco said, a few minutes later, starting to laugh. “I’ve wanted to do that for a very, very long time.”

“Let’s keep doing that,” Hermione suggested. “Except I’m moving. Come with me.” She sat up, then stretched out on the other side of the couch, with a grin. “I’m all about offending your Victorian relatives.”

Draco cleared his throat, cheeks going vaguely pink.

“We could stop. If you’d like to, we don’t have to, because…”

“Too fast?”

“No,” Draco said, slowly. “Just - if you didn’t like that, or…”

“Hey, idiot,” Hermione said, “I want you.”

She reached to grab his shirt, pulling him toward her. He came, pausing for a moment before he stretched out beside her. Hermione laughed, then hooked a leg around his to tip him over on top of her.

“I forget how much like Harry you are,” Draco said, finally. He hadn’t pulled away.

She grinned, sliding her hands up under his shirt. “Very interested in snogging on couches and overly handsy?”

“Straightforward.” Draco’s breath hitched. “Uncomplicated. Not afraid of anything.”

“I’m afraid of things,” Hermione murmured. “Running out of books. Serial killers. Spiders.”

“You aren’t afraid of vulnerability.” Draco met her eyes. “And I find it utterly terrifying, so there’s a very good chance I’m going to ruin this thoroughly before it even starts.”

“You’re not afraid of it with Harry.”

“I’m absolutely afraid of it with Harry. Why do you think I’ve never said anything?”

Hermione ran her fingers down his spine until he shivered. “I’m tempted to try to talk you out of feeling scared,” she said, softly. “But I don’t think it would work. So I’ll just show up until you’re used to it. I know who you are, I like that person. And Harry thinks you hung the moon.”

“I’ve never done this,” Draco admitted, dropping his head against her shoulder. “Relationships that last longer than a fortnight.”

“I hadn’t, before Harry.” She nudged him with her knee. “There are perks. Like, I don’t know, good sex whenever you want it. And snogging on your train.”

Draco laughed against her skin. “Harry keeps insisting I’d probably like sex more if I tried it more than twice with the same person.”

“Don’t ask me how I felt about sex with Harry after the first two times. My overall impression was not positive.”

Draco looked startled. “It wasn’t?”

“No.” Hermione wrapped her leg around him more firmly, easing him closer. “So if you were thinking of getting nervous, as long as you don’t leave to deal with a political incident in the middle, _twice_ , you’ve got him beat.”

“I feel like that’s a fairly low bar.”

“Very. Many flowers were involved to keep me from never sleeping with him again. And groveling.” She laughed. “He was lucky I really liked him.”

“That’s probably good to know.”

“Don’t overthink it,” Hermione murmured, kissing the curve of his jaw. “Come kiss me. Do more with me if you want to. There’s no rush, but you’re allowed to have fun.”

“I overthink everything.” He kissed her again, still more tentative than she wanted, but when she arched up against him, he deepened the kiss, tangling a hand in her hair.

“Bet I can fix that,” she said, and kissed him again.

Later, Draco had put his hands nearly everywhere, and she’d undone all the buttons on his shirt.

“Hey,” she murmured, when he pulled back to look at her for the fourth or fifth time, some sort of wonder written across his face. “I’m assuming your high end train has beds. If you wanted…” She laughed, brushing his hair out of his face. “You can probably tell I’m interested. And I can definitely tell you are.”

“It does, and I am.” He looked relaxed and a little drowsy. “But would you mind staying here and sticking with this?”

“Nope,” Hermione said, with a smile. “As long as you feel me up further and I can eat a sandwich. I’m willing to be all in on pretending we’re sixteen.”

“That sounds like a terrible hardship,” Draco said, straight-faced. “I’m just not quite sure.”

“Quit complaining and touch me more,” she said, kissing him again.

They finally ended up tangled on the couch, watching another Christmas movie on Draco’s phone.

“I’m struggling a little,” Hermione said, finally. “They’re not actually twins who were separated at birth, but they’re literally identical? It seems implausible.”

“You are an unmitigated scrooge.” Draco had his arm around his shoulders. “All you did was complain about the last one as well.”

“Did the part about the prince seem even remotely accurate?” Hermione laughed. “You’d never date a journalist. You hate journalists.”

“That’s part of the plot line,” Draco protested. “She wins him over. She doesn’t mind that he’s the prince. It’s romantic.”

“I think it’s that I like you much better than the fictional prince,” Hermione said, dryly. “You’re less given to pretentious drama.”

Draco laughed, finally sitting up. “Am I turning this off? It’s late.”

“I’m going to bed,” Hermione agreed, stretching. “But you might need to point me at one.”

“Not the next car, but the one after. You’ll like it, there are an exceptional number of frilly curtains.”

“Oh, my very favorite,” Hermione said, dryly. She stood up. “Do you want to come with?” She stepped in close, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Not for sex. Just to sleep.”

“If I don’t ease into this, I’m going to get in over my head very quickly,” Draco admitted, leaning into her touch. “And then I’ll get overwhelmed and pull back and it won’t be good for anyone. So I’d better not.”

“No problem,” Hermione said, taking his face in her hands and kissing him one last time. “I’ll see you in the morning before a lot of people conspire to use twice as much make up and three times as much hair product as I’d ever need.”

“Sleep tight,” Draco said, against her mouth. He was smiling.


	3. Chapter 3

The next afternoon, Hermione took exactly one step onto the train before she dropped her bag and kicked off her heels. She considered, then picked them up and threw them directly into a very tasteful rubbish bin.

“I’m not sure my feet have ever hurt this much.” She fell onto the sofa, where Draco was sitting. His motorcade had beaten hers back. “I can’t walk. I’m going to fire my personal stylist. Or I’ll fish those out of there and make her wear them for four hours.”

“That seems needlessly cruel,” Draco said, amused.

“You weren’t wearing them.”

“They looked nice. Quite twitter appropriate.”

“I will kill you in your sleep.”

“Ouch,” Draco said, laughing.

Her phone text tone went off, and she groaned.

“That’s Harry. It might be important. Please get it and save me, I’ll owe you at least fifteen sexual favors.”

“It’s not important,” Draco said, dryly. “He sent it to both of us, you can read it on my phone.”

“Sixteen,” Hermione offered. “And I’ll make you waffles.”

Draco laughed and got up, tossing her phone at her. “Catch.”

They had a group secure text thread, which had, in the past, largely consisted of Harry sending stupid gifs and Draco responding with one word answers to all her attempts to make dinner plans. Harry had sent a link to a news article with photos of the market.

_Harry_  
@draco **either you’re way more into craft fairs than i ever imagined or you got laid. you literally have the worst poker face in the history of the universe. details**

Hermione opened the article, starting to swipe through photos. They were mostly of her chatting with farmers and of Draco admiring woodworking projects, but there was one where she was laughing at something one of the journalists had said and Draco was looking at her. His face was open and affectionate, and he looked happier than she could remember ever seeing him at a public event. She held it up.

“Your fault,” Draco said, amused, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

_Draco_  
@harry **I’ll have you know that the artisanal cheeses were exquisite. Quit asking about my love life.**

Hermione snorted.

_Hermione_  
@harry **I liked the wreaths, stalker. And Draco didn’t meet anyone new.**

_Harry_   
**that’s not details**

_Draco_  
@harry **I also enjoyed the candles, they were an exceptional example of fine craftsmanship.**

_Harry_   
**NOT DETAILS**

_Hermione_  
@harry **The wreaths are holly and black pine, I brought one back for the front door! I took a picture for you.**

Draco was trying not to laugh and completely failing. She sent the photo with a grin.

“Let’s make it worse,” Draco suggested, leaning closer and flipping his phone to camera mode. “Look like you’re having a good time.”

“I am, in fact, having a good time,” Hermione said, laughing as he took a picture of them. “Torture is good for him.”

Draco sent it.

_Harry_   
**fuck you both**

_Hermione_  
@harry **I mean… yes.**

_Draco_  
@harry **We have had at least eight conversations about talking about your sex life over text.**

_Harry_  
@draco **do I ever listen to your advice? no**

Hermione paused, then looked up at Draco. “Has he ever…”

“Been inclined toward oversharing intimate details?” Draco said, dryly. “Let’s just say that I’m not going to be starting from zero on knowing what either of you like in bed. And he lacks my distrust of private servers.”

_Hermione_  
@harry **You are in so much trouble, husband.**

_Harry_  
@hermione **sorry, wife**

_Hermione_  
@harry **Hope you enjoy the couch, I’ll make sure to pile the wreaths on it first. I hope they poke you.**

_Draco_  
@harry **It was nice knowing you.**

_Harry_  
@draco **maybe make it up to her on my behalf so she doesn’t kill me. you know. flowers, chocolate, something**

_Draco_  
@harry **It seems to have escaped you that we’re on a train.**

_Hermione_  
@draco **Emphasis on the “something.”**

_Harry_  
@draco **i trust your improvisation skills, you can fill me in later**

“He’s not subtle,” Hermione said, laughing, and settled her head on Draco’s shoulder.

“No,” Draco agreed, sounding amused. “I’d work on apologizing for him, but frankly, I need a nap.”

“Not moving sounds excellent.”

Draco shoved a pillow behind her head, then took the inside of the couch. “This might be a little tight. If you want to go into a car with a bed…”

“That’s a hard no.” She laughed, tangling their legs together. “You’re warm. I like warm. I’m not giving up the warmth just to lower my risk of falling off of a sofa.”

Draco laughed. “I wasn’t suggesting you go alone so I could have the couch.” He looked over at her. “We could share. If you want.”

“I want,” Hermione decided, sitting up. She made a face. “Although the prospect of walking from here to a bed is terrible.”

“I somehow think you’ll survive.”

“Unlikely,” Hermione muttered, but she got to her feet and followed him.

A few hours later, she woke to Draco propped on one elbow, watching her in the late afternoon sunlight, and it took a moment to orient herself. He was much less familiar than Harry.

“Were you watching me sleep?” she said, drowsily. 

“You crinkle your nose occasionally when you’re dreaming.” Draco smiled. “It’s possible it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Mm,” Hermione said, rolling over to face him. “Hi.”

Draco hadn’t stopped smiling. “Hi.” 

Hermione shifted closer, slipping her hands under his shirt to run them up his back. His breathing shifted.

“We appear to be stuck on a train,” she said, with a grin. “Thoughts?”

“A few,” Draco murmured, glancing down at her mouth.

“Whatever you want.” Hermione pressed a kiss to the curve of his jaw. “Including if what you want is watching more Christmas movies with utterly incomprehensible plots.”

Draco laughed softly. “Not exactly. But…”

“But?” Hermione said, after a moment, when he failed to finish the sentence.

“I was having trouble reading that conversation with Harry,” Draco admitted. “I feel like I should have asked what was allowed before we left, only I didn’t think…” He ducked his head. “I wasn’t really expecting this to happen.”

“We don’t have rules. There isn’t a list of six things you’re allowed to do with me. Neither of us is going to care if you don’t keep it exactly even between the two of us. We’re not the same person. I’m not expecting that.” She nudged her nose against his. “And I had absolutely no trouble reading that conversation with Harry.” She laughed. “He’s not jealous. He just gets off on the two of us together.”

“Oh,” Draco said, thoughtfully. “And you’re not mad he shared things?”

“Of course not,” she said. “It’s possible it wasn’t the most sensitive thing he’s ever done, I’m not happy if he made you unhappy, but I don’t care that you know.”

Draco wrapped an arm around her waist. “We already had that conversation. He said he thought it would be stupidly obvious that I, ah… had told him how I felt if he suddenly developed a filter. He didn’t want me to think he was mad.”

“His logic always makes so much sense,” Hermione said, laughing.

“Always,” Draco agreed.

“I think,” Hermione murmured, pushing her thigh between his, “we should stay in bed and fool around, and if you want to do more than last night, we can, and if you don’t, I’m still on board with anything else.” She made a face. “Unintentional train pun aside.”

Draco laughed, shifting his hips against her, and then tilted his head to kiss her, warm and slow. “Have I mentioned that I like when you ask for exactly what you want and I don’t have to guess?”

“I might make you guess a little,” Hermione said, breathless, tilting her head back to expose her neck as he started to kiss down her jaw line. The faint hint of his stubble was rough against her skin. “Like where I want you to put your hands.”

“I’m willing to try to figure that one out,” he murmured, and dipped his head a little lower.

-

When she walked in the front door, Harry was lying on the sofa watching a rugby match.

“Hey,” he said, getting up, and came over to hug her. “Have fun?” He grinned. “I believe I was promised a wreath.”

She grinned back, then kissed him hello. “They shipped it, I think. I missed you.”

“Me too.” Harry wrapped an arm around her waist. “I had to entertain myself for twenty-four hours. It was utterly horrifying. Never leave me again.”

“Never,” Hermione agreed, laughing. “And you definitely can’t take that week-long trip to Brussels in January.”

“I’ll definitely resign my post tomorrow and never travel again.” Harry kissed her again, still grinning. “They don’t need me.”

Hermione let go of him to sit on the sofa. “I definitely need you. My feet are dead. Come fix them.”

Harry laughed, following her over. “Let me guess, terrible heels while walking all over a market?”

“You’re clearly psychic.”

He sat, letting her move so she could put her feet in his lap, then stroked his thumb over the arch. 

She made a low noise. “Never stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it. No Draco? I told him he should come over.”

“He just spent twenty-four hours straight with another person,” Hermione said, dryly. “He’s probably on the verge of death. He barely managed to say goodbye.”

“He hasn’t texted back in two hours.” Harry laughed. “Either he’s in hiding from humanity or he’s freaking out.”

“I’m guessing it’s a little of column A, a little of column B.”

“Yeah.” Harry glanced over at her. “How did that… go? It seemed good. I mean -” He laughed. “Are we talking about it? Is that weird?”

“Don’t stop,” Hermione said, nudging her foot against his hand. “And we can if you want, but we don’t have to.” She laughed. “I’m working on the concept that forcing everyone to talk frequently doesn’t help.”

Harry went back to rubbing her feet. “I like this newfound freedom to never say anything about my feelings, but tell me how it went.”

“I put my cards on the table. I think we’re on the same page. But he’s hard to read.”

“Not that hard when he’s beaming at you in front of the entire press corps,” Harry said, laughing.

“We didn’t have sex, for the record.” She waited until Harry looked at her. “Just kissing. I told him you wouldn’t be jealous, I’m hoping I was right about that.”

“I’m not,” Harry said, with a smile. “Well… a little that I wasn’t around. And a little that you probably initiated some sort of functional conversation to make it happen. I keep trying to figure out how to do that and coming up short.”

“Overrated,” Hermione offered. “Just tell him you want him.”

“Sometimes with him it’s easier not to analyze anything,” Harry said, finally. “He’s better if he’s not constantly thinking.”

“That makes two of you,” Hermione murmured. “I trust you, I trust him. But we should put on a movie so I don’t have to watch rugby.”

“I’m not sure I can trust someone who hates sports as much as you,” Harry said, with a grin. “It’s suspicious.”

Harry was scrolling through the netflix menu when someone knocked on the front door.

“We’re not getting up,” Hermione called. “Just use the code, whoever you are.”

“It’s me,” Draco said, dryly. “When you’re kidnapped for ransom because you didn’t check who you were inviting in, you only have yourselves to blame.”

“I just assume the trained people with guns guarding the hallway will handle it,” Hermione said. “Although they did let you through, their judgment might be terrible.”

“Hey,” Harry said, sitting up. “I thought you were going home.”

“I was, but I think my phone is in Hermione’s purse, she had it while I was arguing with security over whether I could carry my own bags off the train,” Draco said, dryly, then laughed, touching the back of his neck. “And I realized - I got in the front door, and it occurred to me after approximately two minutes that I’d rather be over here with the two of you.”

“There’s plenty of couch,” Hermione said, already a little drowsy. “And leftover stew.”

Harry stood up, suddenly, and crossed the room in several strides, then pushed Draco up against the door and kissed him hard.

“Yeah?” he said, after a minute, meeting Draco’s eyes.

“ _More_ ,” Draco said, hoarsely, and fisted a hand in his shirt to pull him back in.

“I’m going to go read in the bath,” Hermione decided, getting up. She wasn’t entirely sure that either of them noticed.

When she got out, there were low voices from the bedroom; they’d left the door half open, although she wasn’t sure if it was for her benefit.

“Yes,” Draco was saying, breathless and a little desperate, “I just - you should… oh, fuck -”

She heard Harry laugh. “It’s okay,” he said, voice rough. “I’ve got you.” There was a pause, then, lower: “I always have you, Draco.”

She headed into the living room with her book. Harry emerged a while later, looking both happy and a little overwhelmed.

“Hey,” he said, leaning over the back of the couch to kiss her. “You could have come in.”

“Nah,” Hermione murmured, running her fingers through his hair, which was a disaster, as always. “I thought I’d give you some room to sort out the whole twenty-something-years-of-unresolved-sexual-tension thing.”

Harry laughed, then actually climbed over the back of the sofa to settle on top of her. “A little interference might not have been the worst thing. It was a lot.”

“Good a lot?”

“Great a lot,” Harry said, burying his face against her neck. “Still a lot.”

Hermione wrapped an arm around him, looking over his shoulder. “Where’s Draco?”

Harry laughed. “Out cold,” he murmured. “I think he might be one of those people who’s absolutely down for the count after sex, remind me to make fun of him later.”

“Or he’s exhausted and built that up in his head. Do you feel okay about it?”

“If you’re asking if we talked about anything, nope. If you’re asking if I think it’s fine, yeah. We’re good. I mean - the rest of it is easy.” He nuzzled the curve of her jaw. “It was mostly just the sex part that felt terrifying.” He laughed. “Turned out it mostly wasn’t, but…”

“Yeah,” Hermione said, softly. “I get it.”

“I’m really tired,” Harry admitted. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“If only we had a bed that you could sleep in,” Hermione said, amused. “I’ll even come with.”

“We should probably wake him up so he can go home.” Harry made a face. “I hate that I have to wake him up.”

“Go get me your phone.”

“We’re definitely not playing any pranks with alarms. I think that might fall under cruel and unusual punishment.”

Hermione snorted, then gestured toward the coffee table until Harry handed it to her and unlocked it. She thumbed through his contacts, then hit dial.

“Hi, Penelope,” she said. “It’s Hermione.” She put a hand over Harry’s mouth before he could say anything. “I thought I should let you know that Draco and Harry are asleep in the living room.” She laughed. “I probably shouldn’t have left them alone to watch rugby.”

“I was almost expecting that,” Penelope said, with a sigh. “It’s not as if he doesn’t fall asleep on your couch at least once a week.”

“He falls asleep on our couch so much that we very literally upgraded to a bigger couch,” Hermione agreed, dryly. “Do you need to do a walkthrough? I can let someone in.”

“There’s a standing protocol because he’s terrible about it. So no.”

“You know me and details about security,” Hermione said, a little sheepishly. “I haven’t exactly been dealing with it my whole life. But have a good night.”

“Have a good evening,” Penelope said, then hung up.

“You’re brilliant,” Harry said. “But also a little conniving. I think I like it. How did you know she wasn’t going to send someone in?”

“Because I’ve read the standing protocol,” Hermione said, with a grin. “I’m just a much better liar than you.”

“I’m going to pass out face first in bed. We may have to let Draco have the middle, I don’t think there’s any moving him.”

“As long as you don’t steal the entire duvet, I can live with it.”

In the middle of the night, Hermione felt Draco sit up suddenly. She rolled over, sliding her thigh over his.

“Hermione?” he murmured, sounding confused.

“Shh,” she said, drowsily. “I handled everything with Penelope. You can go back to sleep.”

“Oh,” Draco said, lying back down. “Right.”

She settled in against his side, but after a minute, it became clear that he was tense and breathing too fast.

“Hey,” she said, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “How can I help?”

“I’m all right.” He didn’t sound convincing.

Hermione reached over him to nudge Harry. He didn’t move, so she nudged him a little harder.

“Ugh,” Harry muttered. “Is it the Russians? If it’s the fucking Russians, I’m not getting up.”

“Nope,” Hermione said. “Just us.”

“You didn’t have to wake him up,” Draco said. “I could just go home.”

“Draco,” Harry said, mildly, “did she just wake me up because you’re having a panic attack at three in the morning because we had sex?”

“No. I’m fine.”

“Uh huh. Have you ever, over the past three decades, bailed because I was an idiot? Including that time I accidentally slept with your girlfriend or the other time I drove your extremely posh car into a lake or the infinite number of times I tried to convince you that I wasn’t good enough to be friends with you because you were the prince of England and I wasn’t an important person at all?”

“No,” Draco said, finally. “You were an important person to me.”

“Great,” Harry said, then took Draco’s face in his hands and kissed him. “I promise not to bail because you’re being an idiot about us having sex.”

“I’m not,” Draco protested, but he’d started to laugh.

“Just a little,” Harry said. Hermione could see his grin in the dark.

“What if it changes things?” Draco said, quietly.

“Of course it changes things.” Harry kissed him again. “It makes them better. Also, you’ll probably be a much more bearable human being if you’re getting laid on a regular basis.”

“I hate you,” Draco said.

“I love you,” Harry said. “So knock it off and go the fuck back to sleep, we’re fine.”

After about a minute, Harry was absolutely asleep again, and Hermione started to laugh.

“I’m sorry he’s mean and unsympathetic,” she said, with a smile.

“He knows what works on me,” Draco said, wryly. “He’s had plenty of practice.”

“I’ll get there.” Hermione kissed his shoulder. “I am, in fact, a fairly quick study.”

“I’m sorry it’s work,” Draco said, after a minute, quietly. “I wish I were more like him. And a little less given to worrying about absolutely everything and feeling insecure half the time.”

Hermione considered him. “If I tell you you’re being an idiot and that you should quit immediately, would that work? I may need tips.”

Draco laughed. “You’re not as convincing about it. You may need to work on that.”

“Harry’s work. I’m work, too. I like you. Don’t change. Don’t think either of us wants you to change.”

“Would it be all right with you,” Draco said, finally, “if we just did this and I didn’t think about it particularly hard? If I just let myself have it and assumed that you both wanted it?” He shifted to look at her. “If I quit panicking about being in over my head and what you’ll do if you figure out I’m stupidly, ridiculously in love with you?”

“Definitely do all that.” She kissed his forehead. “And of course I love you, Draco. It’s a little impossible not to. I just have to learn how to love you for myself and not for the person you are with Harry.”

“It’s possible antagonizing you for three years wasn’t the best plan I’ve ever had,” Draco admitted, straight-faced. “It could probably have used some workshopping.”

“Just a little,” Hermione agreed. “Although I’m perfectly fine with it if you’re pushy and irreverent occasionally. You know, as long as I’m naked.”

Draco laughed. “I can do that.” He ran his hand down the inside of her thigh, stopping to brush his thumb against the back of her knee. “I think I should admit that I was holding back, before. I thought maybe you were humoring me. But I’m not bad in bed. It seems fairly likely I could be exceptional in bed once I learn what you like. I know how to read people.” He kissed her neck, then nipped just above her collarbone with a low grin. “I’m good with my mouth.”

“Well,” Hermione managed, shifting to press against him, “just so we’re clear, if you wanted to fuck me literally right now, I’d be good with it. It’s possible I can’t articulate just how good with it I am.”

“It’s three in the morning.” Draco sounded amused and overly pleased with himself. “I’m going back to sleep.”

“I can basically guarantee it wouldn’t take very long. Possibly, I don’t know, thirty seconds at the outside.”

“That’s not an incentive,” Draco murmured. “I’m planning on taking my time.”

“So, so unnecessary,” Hermione managed. “We’re going to do this a lot more than twice, so you can take your time later. Maybe in the morning.”

“I have to get breakfast with the minister of something or another. You’ll just have to wait. Or ask Harry, I’m sure he’d be willing to help.”

“There’s a problem with that, which is that at the moment, I don’t actually want Harry. I want you.”

“I like that,” Draco admitted, voice going rough. “A lot.”

“We could definitely do something about it.”

“You’re very impatient. We may need to work on that.”

“I’m really unimpressed with you,” Hermione said, laughing. “I’m definitely rethinking this whole thing.”

“You can rethink it while I sleep,” Draco said, and pressed one last kiss to her shoulder.

-

The next morning, she woke up alone. It was barely light out.

“Mmnr-ing,” Harry said, around his toothbrush, leaning in from the sink.

“Don’t tell me you have to go work.”

“Uh huh,” Harry said, then finished and rinsed his mouth out. “Something with Poland. Apparently no one in that country believes in weekends.”

“I’m guessing Draco left for his thing. Because you both like working too much.”

“Yeah.” Harry started pulling on a jumper. “I’m not sure what you said, but he seemed better. Sort of happier and not a ball of nervous energy.”

“That was actually all him.” Hermione stretched. “He trusts you. And, shockingly, me.”

“Not that shocking.” Harry came over to kiss her. “He loves you. But I’d better go before Pansy bodily hauls me out of the flat in rage.”

“Roast chicken for dinner?” Hermione said. “I have to lure Draco back over here to have sex with me. Or both of us. But definitely me.”

“I’m not sure you really need the chicken,” Harry said, amused. “But...” He kissed her again, deeper. “Both of us. If you’re game.”

“Very.” She laughed. “Go before Pansy kills you. And try to keep your mind on Poland.”

“Absolutely no fucking chance,” Harry said, before he ducked out the door.

That night, just before she pulled the chicken out of the oven, she got a text from Harry on the shared thread.

_Harry_  
 **totally stranded trying to get this bill sorted, definitely not getting home before midnight**  
@draco **but you should definitely still go over**

_Draco_   
**Apparently I have a Christmas party at the museum that I absolutely forgot about. Neville is not impressed with me.**

_Harry_  
@draco **neville’s never impressed with you**

_Hermione_   
**So no one’s coming over, and my chicken is going to waste?**

_Harry_  
@hermione **like i’m not eating the entire thing at 2 am, we know this**

_Draco_  
@hermione **Trust me, I’m so unhappy about this turn of events that I may lock Neville in a closet just to get out of it.**

_Hermione_  
@draco **Will you be okay?**

_Draco_  
@hermione **Anticipate requests for cat photos.**

_Harry_  
@hermione **don’t worry, already gave him links to all the most fun tumblr hashtags, you guys even have one now**

_Hermione_  
@harry **Oh god.**

_Harry_  
@hermione **like four million partners in crime memes, they’re all super cute**

_Hermione_  
@harry **I might be willing to look at tumblr for five minutes on your phone.**

_Draco_   
**Maybe tomorrow?**

_Harry_  
@draco **after christmas eve mass?**

_Draco_  
@harry **And the usual agonizing gift opening with my parents.**

_Harry_  
@draco **oh yeah definitely come over after that, we have alcohol**

_Draco_  
@harry **I’ll need it.**

_Harry_  
@draco **and other stuff to make you hate life less - like a *lot* less**

_Hermione_  
@draco **Call me if the museum party is terrible, we can talk about that.**

_Draco_  
@hermione **Just for clarification, is that a thing that you two actually do?**

_Harry_  
@draco **so we’re clear, I was showing admirable restraint, you’re the one who ruined it. but also you know exactly how much i travel**

_Hermione_  
@draco **What, talk about the kind of Christmas cookies I’m making for tomorrow night? Yes, absolutely. All the time.**

_Harry_  
@hermione **nice save**

_Draco_  
@hermione **We both know how bad this party is going to be, I’ll call.**

_Hermione_  
@draco **I’ll text you on our thread so we don’t blow up Harry’s phone during his very important meetings that he’s definitely not texting under the table during.**

_Harry_  
@hermione **actually i have been very good, we were on a break, but now i have to go pretend to do my job, so enjoy… texting**

-

Hermione was putting Christmas cards on Draco’s mantle when she heard the door.

“Oh,” Draco said, startled. “You’re already here. I thought I was coming over.”

“We thought we’d save you the trip,” Hermione said, with a smile. “And we’re always at our place, I figured you might appreciate getting to stay home.”

“Hey,” Harry said, coming in from the sitting room. “Guess what, I already have a drink for you. It’s on the coffee table. I tried this new manhattan recipe, I like it.”

He went over to Draco, then hooked a finger in his belt loop and pulled him in for a kiss. Draco wrapped an arm around his waist, kissing him back a little desperately.

He didn’t pull away even after Harry had drawn back to breathe. “I could definitely use it.” 

“That good? What did he want this time?”

“Just the usual,” Draco said, sounding tired. “I should be better in public and better with the press and better with women. I think he’d just like me to be better in general.”

“Fuck him,” Harry said, firmly. “You’re great.”

“Hi,” Hermione murmured, coming up behind him. She pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. “I’d like to state for the record that I think you’re excellent with women.”

“I very much enjoyed the whole discussion about how I’m letting down the entire royal line because the current heir to the throne is Teddy Lupin, and by the way, was I thoroughly aware that his father was a commoner?”

“Teddy’s also great,” Harry said. “Your dad just hates that the entirety of England likes Teddy better than him.” He kissed Draco again. “I’m kind of drunk, so if you want logical arguments, you might have to ask Hermione, but I really hate him.”

“My logical argument is that your father has antiquated and frankly prejudiced views, and also, that he’s never actually bothered to get to know you, which is absolutely his loss,” Hermione said. “But it means you really shouldn’t take his criticism seriously, because he has no idea what he’s talking about and no right to judge you.”

“He’s not wrong about some of it,” Draco said, finally.

“Oh, fuck that.” Harry wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and pressed their foreheads together. “You’re not allowed to listen to him. No one else cares, Draco. People like you. Maybe you’re not great at interviews, but you show up when it matters. You’re who they want when things go absolutely sideways.”

Draco drew back, starting to laugh. “What have we said about doing that with glasses on?”

“That I’m allowed to forget I’m not supposed to after two glasses of eggnog and a manhattan?” Harry said, dryly. “But I mean it, Draco. You’re there for them. They know it. When was the last time anyone asked your father to go to a military funeral? And how often does your father call the family?”

“I can’t remember. And never, unless the family is important and he thinks he can get good press. But he didn’t serve, he doesn’t understand it. I did.”

“That is my entire point. Right there. No one calls him to comfort people because he’s never understood the stakes. You do.”

Hermione nudged Harry aside, kissing Draco. “As literally the only person in the room who knows what all the boring, ordinary people think, since I grew up as one of them, you’re fine.” She laughed. “I think nearly everyone would defend you to the death. No one cares that you’re not always warm and friendly, we’re British. It’s expected. You’ve always been ours, people love you.”

“I forget sometimes that you were never a part of any of it until a few years ago,” Draco admitted. “Harry and I used to talk about it, we always thought it might be… hard for anyone normal to get past it.”

“I was starstruck for about four minutes,” Hermione said, dryly. “Then Harry spilled a glass of wine all over me, used some curse words I’d never heard, tried to fix it by accidentally touching me incredibly inappropriately with cocktail napkins, and asked me to be friends because he liked my cell phone lock screen. My illusions were fairly shattered.”

“It was Calvin and Hobbes, who doesn’t like Calvin and Hobbes,” Harry protested, then laughed. “Okay, I’m an absolute failure and really bad at being famous.”

“And you just ruined everything by hating me.” Hermione started to unknot Draco’s tie, pressing closer. “But you know how you asked me if I cared about the whole prince thing?”

“Yes?”

“I might have an admission,” Hermione murmured. “Please tell me it’s not going to bother you if I tell you I had a ludicrous crush at eighteen.”

Draco considered, then laughed. “Only in the sense that I wish I’d known you, you would have been... good for me.”

Harry snorted. “He’s trying to say that he knows you’d have talked him into bed and kept him there until he was capable of acknowledging he was appealing to other people even if he was shy.”

“Oh, yeah.” Hermione grinned. “I would absolutely have fucked you. With enthusiasm.”

“You should definitely feel free to have that whole conversation at some point,” Harry said, amused. “Draco might be into roleplay too. You never know.”

Draco blinked once, slowly. “Which, apparently, is also something that you actually do.”

“How is any of this surprising?” Harry rolled his eyes. “You’ve been hearing about it for -” He paused. “Er, never, because I definitely don’t talk about my sex life with people who aren’t Hermione.”

“Uh huh,” Hermione said, amused.

“I thought you were exaggerating. But I meant that it’s… I didn’t think I’d ever…” He paused. “Ah.”

“He means -” Harry started.

“Nope, I’ve got it,” Hermione said, grinning. “He means that it’s only just occurring to him that he too might like adventurous sex with the right people, and it’s blowing his mind.”

“I would have managed to say that eventually.” Draco was laughing. “But it’s nice to know you can figure it out just as well as Harry when I can’t finish sentences.”

“Just vaguely hint at what you want and we’ll translate,” Harry said, elbowing him. “I think I did okay the other night.”

Draco looked slightly flushed. “I wasn’t asking for anything the other night. But it was good.”

“I liked it,” Harry agreed, reaching to ruffle Draco’s hair. “We could go do more of that. Except with Hermione there, since she’s turned me down for sex for two entire days, so I guess she’s interested in sleeping with you or something.” He grinned. “So demanding.”

“Because I’d just have been thinking about Draco,” Hermione said, dryly.

“I love how you think I care.”

“I need a drink. Possibly several. And some time to decompress.” Draco looked down the hall toward his bedroom door. “But maybe after that.”

“No pressure,” Harry said, leaning to nuzzle his neck. “Just if you want.”

“Harry,” Draco said, “that was the best sex I’ve ever had, and I don’t think you were trying very hard. And I can’t stop thinking about Hermione. Of course I want more. I just need an hour or two.”

“Alcohol it is,” Harry said. “And rearranging the sectional so we can all fit on it.”

“Draco,” Harry murmured, amused. He’d propped himself up on one elbow on the couch where they were watching a movie. “You might want to know that she’s about two minutes from getting off incredibly hard, and she’s going to be loud, so don’t get surprised and jump.”

“What?” Draco said, and went still. He lifted his hand from where he’d been tracing his fingertips over her stomach for the better part of an hour. She was lying with her back against his chest, settled between his legs.

“I am literally going to kill you,” Hermione managed, to Harry. “I’m so close, and you just made him stop.”

“But I’m not actually doing anything,” Draco said, sounding startled. “Am I?”

“If you do that for long enough, it doesn’t actually matter that you’re not touching her anywhere interesting,” Harry said. “And you, be nice, I’m trying to get him to give you more.”

“That was fine,” Hermione said. “That was great. I didn’t need more. You ruined it.”

“But how did you…”

“Know?” Harry said, with a grin. “You’re not paying any attention to how she’s breathing. I’d highly suggest going back to that before she stabs me, though. Or touching her somewhere else. If you’re sticking with her stomach… try a little more pressure with your whole palm, watch what happens.”

“Oh,” Draco said, thoughtfully, sliding his hand back under her shirt. “Hermione? What do you want?”

“Just listen to Harry,” she said, breathlessly. “He gives good advice.”

Draco stroked a hand over her stomach, and she bit back a moan. “Like that?”

“Harder,” Harry said, rolling onto his side to watch them. “Slower.”

Draco tried it again, and she arched into his touch.

“There you go,” Harry said, with a grin. “You can keep watching the movie. Just enjoy what happens in about two minutes.”

“Or one,” Hermione said. “Or - _oh_ -”

A few minutes later, she let her head fall back against Draco’s shoulder, still breathing hard. 

“Sorry,” she said, a little sheepishly. “He wasn’t wrong to warn you. I should have. I just like your hands, and then I got distracted.”

“Please tell me you’re not apologizing for that,” Draco said, then tilted her head up and kissed her, warm and deep. He pulled back, flushed. “It wasn’t what I was expecting, but that was…”

“Better?” Harry supplied, looking pleased with himself.

“Infinitely,” Draco agreed. “Possibly by an order of magnitude.”

Hermione laughed and rolled over, pressing Draco back into the couch. “How are you feeling about letting us do indecent things to you?”

“You’re lying on top of me. You tell me.”

“Definitely game.” Hermione grinned. “What do you want?”

Draco paused. “I don’t know what my options are.”

“Literally anything you want.” Harry rolled onto his side next to them. “It’s Christmas, we can definitely make it happen.”

“I think I want to… let you handle all of it,” Draco said, looking at Harry. He suddenly looked a little anxious. “How much would you mind?”

Hermione watched Harry’s eyes go dark.

“We can do that,” Harry said, with a smile. He wrapped a hand around the base of Draco’s neck. “Easy.”

Hermione pressed a kiss to Draco’s jaw, nuzzling his temple. “I think that was already Harry’s plan.”

“Let’s just have fun,” Harry said, nudging Draco with his knee. He grinned. “We can have stupidly intense sex that’s about feelings later.”

Draco laughed, looking less tense. “Fair warning, that might get in there a little.”

“Oh no,” Harry said, solemnly. “Emotional intimacy. The absolute worst.”

“I’m up for anything,” Draco said, then laughed, twisting to kiss Harry. “Although I don’t think I can make any promises on skill level with you.”

“Me either,” Harry admitted. “But I can promise enthusiasm. I probably should have been more self-aware about whole bisexual thing when I was in my twenties and shagging half of London, at least one of us would have a clue.”

“If only someone here could help,” Hermione said, amused. “It’s so tragic there isn’t anyone in the room who knows a lot about sex with men and has made an entire career about teaching people things. Oh, wait.”

“Was that you volunteering?” Harry said. “Brilliant. You’re great with your mouth, I’m about to need pointers.”

“Oh,” Draco said, very slowly.

Harry grinned again. “Yet another thing we actually do.”

“Bedroom,” Hermione suggested, laughing. “Everyone should feel free to lose a lot of clothes on the way.”

“It does sort of make it easier,” Harry agreed, climbing off the couch and offering Draco a hand with a smile.

-

“Presents?” Harry said, hopefully, from where he was sprawled across the foot of the bed. “Or at least some of the presents?”

Draco was still wrapped around her, actually fully relaxed for the first time she could remember. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d been waiting for the sex to be over just to get to gifts.”

“I wasn’t waiting,” Harry protested. “We had a lot of sex. It was great. But I want to give you my present. I kept it a secret for two months.”

“It’s sort of a miracle.” Hermione was running her fingers up and down Draco’s side, affectionate. “Although, sorry if anyone put a massive amount of effort into my gift, but I think my best present was definitely… this.”

“Agreed.” Draco stroked a hand through her hair. “Sorry, Harry.”

“Okay, but my counter is that we can have sex every single day if we want, Christmas presents are only once a year.”

“You know,” Draco said, thoughtfully, “I hadn’t actually considered that fact until now.” He laughed. “The sex part, not the bit about Christmas presents.”

“We have a lot of sex,” Harry said, helpfully. “You’re definitely getting in on that. And I’m very enthusiastic about that idea. We can even have more later tonight if you want.” He paused. “But there are presents. Presents that I’d like to remind everything we could be opening right now.”

“Yours aren’t wrapped yet.” Draco laughed. “Owing to the fact that we always do presents Christmas afternoon. Because I have literally never given in on letting you open them on Christmas eve.”

“That’s true.” Harry came up to flop next to him. He stretched, pointedly. “But I don’t think I had sufficient incentives before. If you let me open presents, I’ll let you do whatever you want to me in an hour.”

She felt Draco’s breath catch. He suddenly wasn’t quite as relaxed.

“Just let him,” she said, amused. “You can go back to being strict next year. There are extenuating circumstances tonight.”

“If I’m agreeing to this,” Draco warned, “no one is getting dressed, and the only time anyone is getting out of bed is to physically get the presents.”

“And I need a glass of wine and more Christmas cookies. Those are my terms,” Hermione said.

“Done, done, and also done,” Harry said, getting up.

“I didn’t say yes yet,” Draco pointed out.

“You’re about to.” Harry grinned. “I’m absolutely positive, because if you say yes, I promise that one of your presents can be me doing more very creative things with my mouth. You said you liked it before, but I think I could use more practice.”

“Fuck,” Draco muttered. “Fine. You win. We can open a few of them.”

“Three each,” Harry said.

“Two each,” Hermione countered. “But it’s fine with me if you want to give Draco two of his best ones.” She nudged Draco with her knee. “Sorry, Harry’s going to die otherwise. Or ruin the surprise at one minute past midnight.”

“Actually, I have one wrapped for Hermione,” Draco said. “It’s in my office.” He made a face. “I guess that means I am, in fact, getting up.”

“I’ll get it,” Harry said, sounding gleeful. “And what Hermione’s giving you. Mine doesn’t have a box.”

“This is going to be terrible, isn’t it?” Draco mused.

“Just pick two for yourself from under the tree,” Hermione said. “I left some over here last week so it looked less barren. And actually, Draco can have three. Bring in the one from me to him that’s got the snowman wrapping paper, I think it’s on the side near the fireplace. Plus the other thing.”

Harry pulled on his jeans. “I don’t know what’s in that one.”

“This is what happens when you’re in Belgium while I do the Christmas shopping.”

“Sorry, it’s almost as if I’m trying to run a country.” Harry grinned, then came back a few minutes later, dropping presents on the bed before he disappeared again and came back with a glass of wine and a plate of cookies.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” Draco said, dryly.

“Just for that, you have to open the mystery present first,” Harry said, sternly, handing him a present.

“I got it six weeks ago.” Hermione licked powdered sugar off her thumb, then grinned. “Now it’s sort of hilarious.”

“Oh good,” Draco said, starting to unwrap it carefully.

“You’re the worst at this,” Harry observed. “I don’t think it’s possible to open a present more slowly.”

“I really don’t know why I’m sleeping with you,” Draco remarked.

“I don’t know why either of you put up with me,” Harry said, stealing a cookie from Hermione’s plate. “Let alone have sex with me on a regular basis.”

Draco got the box open, then started to laugh. “Ouch,” he said, holding up the scarf. “I deserved that.”

“I don’t get it,” Harry said, finally. “It’s a perfectly good scarf. What’s wrong with scarves?”

Draco snorted. “You give them to your drivers and the administrative assistants you’ve met exactly twice.”

“Or your husband’s best friend who hates you,” Hermione said, straight-faced. “I’m just saying.”

Draco leaned over Harry and kissed her, slow and warm. “For the record,” he said, when he finally pulled back, “I most assuredly didn’t hate you.”

Harry laughed and pushed another box toward her. “You might want to open this one next.”

Hermione started opening it. “If it’s a book that Draco picked out, you can’t claim it’s from you.” 

“Before you try to say that I’m a terrible husband,” Harry said, “one, it’s basically tradition at this point, and two, it’s not just any scarf, it has orange cats on it.” He grinned. “And I found it by myself on Etsy with absolutely no help from anyone else, so you’re obligated to like it.”

“I found Draco’s by myself.” Hermione laughed. “But you can have credit for the fact that it’s very cute.”

Harry grinned. “I see how it is. Your terrible, thoughtless scarf leads to snogging, and my perfectly nice one doesn’t.”

“I’m closer, I’ll handle it,” Draco said to her, then wrapped a hand around the back of Harry’s neck and drew him down.

“Oh,” Harry said, when Draco broke the kiss, looking flushed and vaguely pleased. “I’m - I might have forgotten we could do that now.”

Draco laughed. “You’d think the fact that I’m naked in my bed with you would be a strong hint.”

“I mean, yeah. On the other hand, a lot of really alcoholic eggnog was involved in getting me in here without overthinking all the sex stuff, and then I was distracted by scarves.”

Hermione ruffled his hair. “Drunk? You? Never.”

“Do Draco’s other one.” Harry elbowed her. “I don’t know what it is, but I’m really hoping it’s not a scarf.”

“It’s not a scarf. Which you could probably tell from the size of the package,” Draco teased.

“Quit being mean to me. It’s Christmas.”

Hermione tossed the gift bag at Harry’s head, holding it up. “A key?”

“It’s a metaphorical key,” Draco said, touching the back of his neck. He almost looked sheepish. “That one goes to my wardrobe. But none of my doors have key locks, so I had to make do. I changed the security protocol. So you can come in even if I’m not there or you’re not with Harry.”

“Oh,” Hermione murmured, startled, then suddenly grinned. “I’m keeping this and mismating every single sock you own. No one can stop me.”

“Never mind, I’m rescinding it.”

“Too late,” Hermione said. “No take backs.”

“You should give Draco yours.” Harry snuggled in against her side. “It sort of goes with that.”

Hermione leaned to rummage under the bed, then handed him her gift.”

“It’s a copy of Good Housekeeping with you on the cover,” Draco said, after a pause. “I… appreciate it?” He considered her. “Although I think I prefer you in nothing compared to this dress.”

Harry snorted. “It’s not the pictures, it’s the article. She was sneaky.”

“They’ve been after me to do something since the election,” Hermione said. “It comes out next week. You definitely shouldn’t read it, because you’ll get entirely the wrong impression.” She grinned. “I spent approximately two hours talking about how nice it was to have you as part of our family, since I didn’t have any siblings growing up. There are at least five jokes about the truly excessive amount of time you and Harry spend watching rugby.”

“She even talked about how much she still appreciates cooking for us even after the election, so it’s nice when you have time to come over for dinner.” Harry grinned. “They ate that part up, they even put in her recipe for beef wellington.”

“I said I was glad you had each other, since it was hard for other people to understand all the pressure you’re under, and since your parents are so busy,” Hermione said. “Which is true, but not so much the brother bit.”

“She even got your mum to give a quote about how it’s nice that we’re so close.” Harry sounded a little gleeful. “Or, well, her publicist gave a quote. Same difference.”

“I also had to talk about my favorite mascara and my New Year’s resolutions and how much I like being married to Harry, but there’s definitely a lot about you. I don’t think anyone cared to begin with. But I thought you might appreciate the cover.”

“I do,” Draco said, quietly. “A lot. It makes it easier to worry less about what the press thinks if I’m over here at two in the morning or friendly with you in public. Even if that’s not exactly news.”

“We also have to come up with some joint charity initiatives.” Hermione shifted, nudging her nose against his before she kissed him. “I hinted that we talked about them on the way to Inverness and that we’re very excited. I’m thinking childhood literacy and food banks, but I’ll take suggestions.”

“Hmm, reading to small children and handing out canned goods,” Draco said, with a smile against her mouth. “Twitter will approve.”

“Knock it off, I have to give you my present,” Harry said. “I mean, my hypothetical present. Hermione sort of ruined it.”

“I didn’t ruin it,” Hermione said, dryly. “I made you be a responsible human being.”

“Whatever. Go check your text messages.”

“My phone’s on your coffee table. It’s possible I was too distracted to remember it.”

“God, you’re so difficult.” Harry unlocked his phone, then threw it at Draco. “You can check your texts on mine.”

“Are those… puppies?” Draco said, after a pause.

“My present is that I’m willing to get you a puppy. But Hermione said I wasn’t allowed to get you an actual puppy for Christmas, since apparently that’s irresponsible and we had to make sure you wanted one first. But you love dogs. And you always said you travel too much, but we’d both help. And Hermione is in London more than either of us.”

“We’ll help,” Hermione offered. “Consider it a joint present. It can stay here when you’re gone.”

“Hermione did about four thousand hours of research on health tests and stuff,” Harry said. “These ones are from a good breeder. They can come home in two weeks. Hermione talked to her forever. And I know whippets are your favorite, since every time you go to Westminster you make excuses to spend all day standing around with them. But we can get another kind if you want.”

“Or no dog,” Hermione said, laughing. “There’s no pressure.”

Harry elbowed her. “Except for how I think it’s good for you to be happy and let yourself have the things you want.”

Draco was quiet for a minute. “You’d do that? It’s a lot of work.”

“It’s a dog,” Harry said. “I love dogs. I’ve always wanted one, but my life is a perpetual disaster.” He grinned. “Honestly, I’m a perpetual disaster. But Hermione’s actually responsible, and so are you. We can make it work. Plus we have hundreds of people on staff. Some of them probably like dogs.”

“Okay.” Draco finally laughed. “In the spirit of making this an entire Christmas of getting things I’ve wanted for years, let’s get a dog.”

“Hah,” Harry said, shifting to kiss him. “I knew it was a brilliant idea.”

“Are there more pictures?” Draco said. “Which one am I getting?”

“Hermione has about a hundred,” Harry said. “There are two the breeder said would be good. It’s one of the ones with stripes, and the other one doesn’t have stripes.”

“There are six,” Draco said, patiently. “So basically it could be any of them.”

“I have notes.” Hermione laughed. “But I was thinking you could have them in the morning, since presumably Harry wants to open his presents.”

“Nope,” Harry said, suddenly looking very pleased with himself. “I just wanted you to open yours, I’m saving mine until tomorrow.”

“Seriously?” Hermione said.

“Yes.” He suddenly rolled over on top of Draco. “And now my plan is to distract you so much that you don’t care that I was sneaky.”

“What am I going to do with you?” Draco said, fondly.

“Dunno.” Harry grinned before he kissed him again. “But I definitely have a couple of ideas.”


End file.
